


Spare Me Over (Won't You?)

by biscuit_tin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuit_tin/pseuds/biscuit_tin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius left some very interesting research behind in the wake of his untimely demise. Now, three teenagers are on a hunt for answers that will take them halfway around the globe and Dean Winchester is about to discover he may have made more than just some fond memories in Miami 16 years ago. </p>
<p>Oh dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1993 - Miami

# 1993

  


## Bar in Miami

 

Dean walks in to a quiet bar in Miami. He's giving himself a break - let Sam have some alone time with their Dad. He’s twenty years old, he’s got a fake ID, and he’s got a bottle of SPF 30 in the trunk of the Impala that Sam and Dad are definitely _not_ using further back upstate in Daphne.  


 

The bar is tucked back a little ways off the Miami Strip - an old 1930’s joint with smooth sloping corners, faded blue and white from the the sea air exposure. Inside the bar is damp, warm, and a smokey, not quite fruity cigar fug permeates narrow rooms with high ceilings and cement tile floors. The paint is chipped and peeling along the crown moldings that frame a ceiling painted with a night sky and gilt stars, and in the din of the room Dean can barely make out unintelligible cursive in Spanish running around the walls over cracked Havana tile.  


 

The bar is mostly empty - middle of the week October isn't exactly peak tourist season, even in a place that’s still a balmy 78F most nights this time of year. At the far end near the wall is a redhead leaning over the counter, thoughtfully swirling her melting ice and lime wedge around in a drained glass.  


 

She’s pretty - long red hair, she’s wearing an earthy green top and shorts, brown leather sandals, and has a flowery blouse tied around her waist. She has the glow of a soft tan, and a light dusting of freckles on her bare shoulders. When she happens to look up and notice Dean she smiles, and her eyes - bright green that stand out more vividly against the backdrop of her hair and in the smokey atmosphere of the room - crinkle up _just so_ in the corners and Dean _knows_ that he’s going to buy this woman a drink.  


 

It’s two hours later and Dean’s told her the story about the one and only time Sam tried to do laundry at Bobby’s - soap suds everywhere, none of it in the washing machine - and she’s laughing so hard she’s leaning her head against the edge of the bar. She’s had her own funny stories to share with Dean, seven years of boarding school in Scotland in a castle begs a story or two - and if that accent isn’t sexy he doesn't know what is. Dean’s cheeks hurt from grinning. The two of them stand up to leave and the bartender smirks at their backs as the woman asks Dean back to her hotel. Dean’s not looking for a serious connection, and neither is she - just a relaxing time with some good company.  


 

Three days later when it’s time to drive back up to meet with Sam and Dad, Dean wakes up to an empty bed. No hard feelings - a week on the beach with good company and no expectations was apparently what they both needed. There’s a small copper pendant with her namesake embossed on both sides - a Lily, her name is _Lily_ \- on top of a folded piece of parchment. Dean smiles as he reads the note, before folding it back up to tuck away in his wallet later. The pendant he ties on to a strip of leather around his wrist that already has a small amulet Bobby gave him two years back. Dean showers, packs up his stuff and moves on with his life.


	2. 2009 - London

# 2009 - London

  


## Grimmauld Place

Three days after Christmas proper and Harry Potter is staring at the cracks in the plaster ceiling over his bed. He has counted forty-seven of them, radiating outwards from a point roughly centered over his pillow, where the plaster has crumbled away to expose the beam underneath. At least it’s December - if the greying edges around the cracks in the ceiling are anything to judge by, spring rains in London are going to make this room rather damp and more unpleasant than usual. For the last hour, Harry has been tossing a bit of crumpled parchment at the center-most point, mulling over the conversation he had with Sirius.  


 

Their conversation has given him a great deal to consider, and Harry thinks to himself, somewhat ruefully, that if Sirius had only brought the subject up earlier, Ginny would not have had to scold him for moping about his questionable sanity over the past week.  


Well. Maybe not. Harry can admit, if only to himself, that it _might_ have been more information than he was prepared to absorb. Very likely, he’d be more despondent than ever, if Gin hadn’t already set him straight.  


There’s a chuckle bubbling up in the back of his throat that may or may not be hysterical - as if it wasn't mortifying enough that Sirius wanted to sit Harry down for 'The Talk'; when he made to protest, that he knew the basics, after a hazy fashion, of what occurred between two people Sirius stopped him there - apparently even wizarding parentage can't be simple, can it?  


It's not everyday that someone sets you down and explains that you have more than two biological parents - or, Harry wouldn't think so, at least. But if Sirius's solemn expression, and the two crumbling books the man has dug out of the library's collection - one on wizarding genealogies and another detailing a number of specific potions and rituals common among old families - weren't enough to convince him his godfather wasn't taking the mick, Ron's casual "Well, yeah mate, s'how Dad's great uncle took our cousin in—" as he told his friends later on tipped it. Even Hermione gaped for a moment before shutting her mouth again and making grasping hands at the tomes he’d brought back up with him after his conversation.  


Not for the first time, both Harry and Hermione are sorely wishing there was a Wizarding Culture Introduction class for first year students at Hogwarts.  


 

"Merlin, Harry! We're already inbred enough in Great Britain as it is - can you _imagine_ how much worse it'd be if we didn't bring in some new blood now and again?"  


Really. A primer is all he's asking for. It's a reasonable enough request.  


 

Confusion and anger rising with the heated blush on his cheeks, Harry said "S-so what, then - you’re just now telling me that my _Mum_ decided to help boost the Potter bloodline by finding some random bloke? Or that - that she cheated on my Dad? And _him_ \- he just goes along with it then? James, I mean? What about this other bloke; I don't even know him, do I? Do you, does _anyone_?"  


Sirius paled a bit "What? No! No - hold on, I've just about gone and bungled this whole talk, haven't I? Here - just, let me explain what I know and then I'll try to answer your questions after, hey?"  
  

At that point Sirius had beckoned Harry over to the settle to sit beside him instead of pacing in front of the fireplace and turned to face his godson as he began to explain.  
  

"Right then. Yes. Well - James and Lily dated in our seventh year of school, which you know. They were casual about it - getting to know each other, whether they could be friends or if it was just an infatuation. After we all finished school, they both had plans: James and I were going directly into the Auror Corps by Midsummer and Lily wanted to go on sabbatical before beginning a Mastery, to give herself a bit more time to decide whether she wanted to focus on Charms or Potions.”  


 

"They decided to break it off for a while, take a break and see other people, stay friends or maybe revisit the possibility of a relationship further on down the line. Months later, your mother returned from her trip near the beginning of November, and she and James reconnected - he hadn't been interested in anyone else since she'd left, and Lily had found she'd quite missed him in the time she'd been abroad - sent him a good deal of post as I recall. 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder' and all that bunk.”  
  

"When she realized she was pregnant with you, she thought James would be put off by it, but he was thrilled. Your father was an only child and your grandparents had him very late in life, understand. James always wanted a large family, and he loved your mother so - he asked her right then and there to marry and they had a small ceremony in December. As your chosen godfather, I performed the ritual to bind you as a child to the Potter bloodline. On your Christening we completed your formal blood adoption and that was that.”  


Silence stretched between them some moments as Harry stared hard at his fingers, twisting them together nervously before he swallowed and looked back up at Sirius. “So, does this mean I’m not actually a -“ Sirius cut him off.  


"You _are_ a Potter, Harry - that family survives with - _in_ you, and you are most _definitely_ James's son, never doubt that, do you understand? He loved you the moment he knew of you - they both did.” Sirius smiled gently and reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Besides, that mop on your head you call hair is certainly a Potter family trait, if I ever saw one.”  


"So... so what about my, err, other Dad?”  


"Hmm, well - your mother gave us his name - Dean Winchester. There's no address to reach him as such. At the time it seems he was doing a great deal of cross country travel for work. I don't have a picture of the man, and if Lily ever described him, I don't remember.  


 

“I know it’s very little to go on, but I still have a couple contacts in the US, one person I've reached out to in particular may be of some help in finding your other father. Muggle post is rather slow, however, so it'll be a while before I have anything of worth to tell you."  


 

Harry stopped tossing the ball of parchment as a bit of loose plaster dusted his glasses.  


 

Coughing, he tossed the parchment over towards the desk as he sat upright on his bed and crossed his legs. After wiping his glasses off with the sleeve of his jumper, Harry reached across to his bedside table where there rested a length of leather cording with a small charm tied off in the center. He fingered the small charm - copper, with a stylized lily embossed on either side.  


 

Never before had Harry possessed anything of his mother's. It was a gift beyond price - passed to him from Remus at Christmas, who along with Sirius had gone sniffing through the detritus left behind the destroyed cottage that had been his parents home. Remus had posited that the mild Notice-Me-Not charm may well have saved the small trinket from some scavenging tourists gone souvenir hunting before the ministry had seen fit to raise wards around the property.  


 

Harry knotted the cord behind his neck and tucked the charm under his jumper before getting up. He'd done his thinking and there were people downstairs now - loved ones who he wanted to spend time with while he could. The possibility, though - however small - of having other family out there, was enough to give Harry some hope.  


Still, a primer. He might talk to Hermione about it - between them they could pick Ron’s brain and write one up.  


 

## ~*~

Sirius isn’t sure why he never told Remus.  


Perhaps that isn’t entirely true. Sirius isn’t sure for _which_ reason he’s never told Remus. It may be that in some way this is the means by which Sirius can make it up to James and Lily - some small repayment. Being the Keeper of their last Secret.  


It may or may not also be a childish sort of revenge, not sharing this secret with Remus - keeping it from Albus, even.  


Then again, who’s business is it, really? Besides James and Lily’s - and Harry’s?  


_Harry_.  


Whatever the reason, Sirius has a gut feeling that this is the right way to be about things - or at least as right as he can make them.  


A lot of the Order - Molly, _Remus_ , Albus, Snape - think he hasn’t really changed the last fourteen years. They think that Sirius is trapped in the past the way he’s been stuck in this crumbling mausoleum the last seven months. He is different though. How could he not be? Fourteen years ago Sirius would never have considered himself fatalistic. Now, though…  


Sirius leaves Harry to the comfort and assurances of Ron and Hermione and shuts himself up in his own suite of rooms. He strides past a locked and warded roll top desk on his way to the ensuite, determinedly not looking at it - he reminds himself sternly that _it can wait_. It’s Hol’s - he will spend this time with Harry, with his godson, and only put off his research until the children have returned to school for the new year. He's not expecting any correspondence anyway - even if the muggle post hadn’t slowed to a crawl because of the Christmas season, any letters or packages from his contact would still be coming through a redirected postal service before making their way to Kingsley.  
  

That yank is at _least_ as paranoid as old Alastor, and just as ornery, as well. Right peas in a pod, the both of them.  


Sirius can feel the manic anxiety hovering at the edge of his thoughts, the need to keep at his research. To exhaust every avenue of inquiry. Blacks have always tended towards obsession; Azkaban did him no favors in that regard. But Sirius has 1) learned to trust his gut instincts and 2) his gut is telling him to hurry. There is a need for urgency and to find what answers he can, before... whatever it is, happens.  


And if nothing else, he can provide this last bit of privacy for his godson - he can hold on to this last piece of knowledge for Harry, and perhaps keep him safe with it.  


It’s not that he doesn’t trust Remus. But in the end it really isn’t his truth to tell (to anyone but Harry). And he doesn’t trust Remus not to bring it to Albus’s attention.  


And it’s not that he doesn’t Trust Albus, _per say_.  


More that he trusts Albus to do the thing that will save the most people. Even now. Especially now that he knows what the Dark Bastard has done to himself. He may trust Albus Dumbledore to a point, but he knows well enough that the man, venerable as he is, is prone to making mistakes as much as anyone else - and he is _sure_ that Albus is making them with regards to Harry, unfortunately.  


 

And so Sirius will delay a few more days, until Harry is safely away at Hogwarts.  


Then he will once again shut himself up in his rooms making notations on dark theories and combing through the library for scant information and wheedling half-baked suppositions out of his paranoid contact in America. He will see his godson safe and whole and, most importantly, _alive_ at the end of this mess.  


## ~*~

Over 4,000 miles away, in a home just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a man takes off his baseball cap and throws it at the top of his desk in frustration. Leaning into his hands, rubbing at his temples, Bobby Singer sighs and squints and scowls at a corner of his desk that's crowded with several months worth of parchment correspondence, closes his eyes and rubs his temples again. Things were already complicated before, but now...  


 

If what this man implied is true - and he _knows_ Dean, and he trusts his gut feelings most days, and so he thinks it may very well be - then _damnit_ all, this is just another generations worth of heartbreak this family didn't need, isn't it?  


Would it be kinder in the end, if Dean didn't know? Until his Deal has been resolved one way or the other (he wants to shoot that boy, ring his neck and hug him - and Sam; it’s killing Bobby to see those boys so desperate)?  


 

But Bobby has always been a pragmatic soul - in the event that things... don't work out, would it ease Dean, to know that he has a son out there, that a piece of him is going to live on in the world? Would the knowledge alleviate Sam's grief? Or would it just make everything ( _acceptance_ , his mind whispers) harder on the both of them - lost opportunity, lost chances. He doesn't know, and what information he does have is still vague on the particulars, so Bobby huffs out a breath, slaps his cap back on his sweaty hair, and goes to reheat a pot of coffee. He's burning the midnight oil tonight.  


 

## ~*~

Somewhere in Middle America, in a dingy motel just a ways off of a stopover too small to be called a town - a pair of cross streets, some old municipal buildings and a greasy spoon attached to a car repair - Dean Winchester stares up at the ceiling, tossing a ball of paper he snatched out of one of Sam’s notebooks (to Sam’s infinite ire and a muttered “asshole”) at the center spot on the gray tile over his bed. If he throws it hard enough, the tile bounces in its setting, just a little.  


 

The silence would be more contemplative if the soft thumping of the paper ball hitting the ceiling wasn't setting off Sam's nerves, and the dust that he’s loosened from the ceiling is starting to make Sam’s nose itch. Dean looks over at his brother, who's awkwardly hunched over his laptop, sitting on a sleeper sofa that’s too small for him, and smirks a little as his brother’s nose twitches.  


 

He tosses the ball of paper and beans Sam's head.  


" _Ow_! Hey - what the hell was that for?”  
  

"Come on you big baby, let's go get dinner."  



	3. 2009-2010 Transcontinental Epistolary

# 2009-2010

## Transcontinental Epistolary

**[In Care of Madeline Brokefeld]**

August 18, 2009

Mr. Singer,

 _We have never met. My acquaintance Madeline assures me of your trustworthiness, however, and recommended you to me as a source of information - and, I hope, a source of assistance._  


_I am looking for a man by the name of Dean Winchester. He would be around 35 years of age or thereabouts, and may travel frequently to attend to his occupation. Other than Madeline’s assurances that either you or one of your other contacts are a likely point of reference, I have no other information to offer in tracking down his whereabouts, and time is short._  


_My gratitude of what assistance you can provide to put me in touch,_  


S. Black

**[In Care of Kingsley Shacklebolt]**

August 29, 2009

Mr. Black,

 _You’d best believe Madeline and I had a long chat before I replied to your letter. But, well - if she’s vouching for you I reckon I can give you the benefit of a doubt - my line of work isn’t exactly innocent in the eyes of some._  


_I know some of what goes on in that community of yours - and I think you know my people and your people prefer to stay out of each other’s way. So what’s a man like you doing looking for man who’s never stepped one foot off of American soil? Yeah I know him; figure it won’t hurt to tell you that much. No doubt Madeline’s told you we’ve worked a job a time or two together on occasion. Know some of the same people._  


_However he’s a bit out of reach at the moment with his work and I’m not inclined to tell you more than that, unless you can give me a reason as to why you’re looking for him._  


Bobby Singer

**[In Care of Madeline Brokefeld]**

September 8, 2009

Mr. Singer,

 _I confess I am relieved - this is some of the best news I have had this year, and it has been a long one. The climate in Great Britain is looking rather poor, and things are not in much better shape on the Continent, I’m afraid._  


_Rest easy, that I have no disagreement at this moment with Mr. Winchester. However, the matter at hand concerns my Godson as pertains to both his safety here and his parentage. Though out of reach (relatively) at the moment, he has a number of enemies both known and unknown to us._  


_Because you know something of the community in which we reside it does no damage for me to tell you that by her death the boy’s mother conferred on her son a measure of powerful protection. However, I fear it will not be enough in the end to keep him safe from harm. What is your knowledge, Mr. Singer, on soul-based magic and on magic of intent? Currently, available resources can only lead me to bleak conclusions and equally damnable solutions, of which a dare not employ._  


_Is there no point of time soon when Dean Winchester may be available to contact?_  


_My gratitude, with all speed._  


Sirius

**[In Care of Kingsley Shacklebolt]**

September 27, 2009

Black,

 _Don’t think I don’t know what you’re implying. Begging your pardon but do you have any proof that this Godson of yours is Dean Winchester’s son?_  


_I’m afraid it’s going to be some while before he is headed back this way. Regardless, I’ll do what I can to help you keep that boy safe - word out there is it’s getting harder to pass information in or out of Britain. Madeline tells me there’s talk of families moving to the mainland. Even here in the States certain borders that your people use may be bottlenecked soon. If I was you, I’d think real hard about packing you and the kid up and pulling out - for the boy’s sake if not your own._  


_Magic - your sort, anyway. Well, it’s all more or less based off of intent in the end, isn’t it? I'd imagine that the kind of sacrifice the boy’s mother gave up in his defense is damn powerful if that's the case. I don’t expect I can tell you much more on that than you already know yourself._  


_Soul magic - I haven’t studied up on your kind of magic - my knowledge is more esoteric. I can tell you though, that the sort of degenerates I put down like to trade on them - souls, that is. They’re a hot commodity here unfortunately. The topic you’re asking about is dangerous, I don’t doubt you know. I’d warn you off it, if I could. Well._  


_Don’t do anything foolish, is all. I’ve included some copies of my own research pertaining to the topic._  


Bobby

**[In Care of Madeline Brokefeld]**

November 15, 2009

Mr. Singer,

 _Bobby - How to prove that my Godson is that man’s son. Beyond my own conjecture and the little knowledge I have about his conception, there is no safe way, currently, for me to do so. His mother: known before her marriage as Lily Evans._  


_She had a fling with a young man going by the name of Dean Winchester in Miami Florida, in mid-October of 1993. It has been too long for me to recall whether or not she described him to me. Though I do remember her remarking on his having an attractive black car she was sure I would appreciate (I am something of an enthusiast for older model autos), if that helps. Lily herself had dark red hair and green eyes. I don’t believe describing my Godson’s features will be of much help - in his infancy the boy was blood adopted into the family of Lily’s husband James, and so has inherited some of James’ more distinct features._  


_You might ask whether or not Winchester possesses some token of affection from his time spent with Lily. She charmed a handful of small amulets that she would gift to friends and loved ones - when worn, they would be spelled unnoticeable unless purposefully shown by the wearer, and were charged with mild defensive magic. She was a very gifted woman, and remarkably protective of those she was fond of._  


_That is all I have to offer at the time, save my own intuition._  


_I wonder if spiriting him abroad would be safer in the end? He would, I think, be happier at least. I am convinced that Lily inherited all the kindness in her family - certainly her sister has bestowed precious little on her nephew since the death of his parents. It is an option to consider, at least._  


_Your materials were a great help in my own research, and appear to concur with my own concerns. Here enclosed you will find notes of my own, and my current conclusions - make of them what you will, and write back to me._  


Sirius

**[In Care of Kingsley Shacklebolt]**

December 2, 2009

Sirius,

 _Your conclusions, if correct, are painting a frightening future for your Godson. And a short one. I can’t rightly say whether or not you’ve got the right lead here, save a gut feeling. Without taking a proper look at the boy or another… artifact to sample, let’s say, I can’t tell you whether or not the methods familiar to me and mine would be the best solution to solving your problem. I can only agree that it’s worth a shot, at least._  


_I will keep digging, in any case. Meantime, here is a list of tests and aversions to the sort I deal with. Somehow I don’t think that it’s entirely applicable to your situation, but better to eliminate the possibility - at the least, you will be able to shed some light on what this does or doesn’t mean for your Godson, cross some things off your list._  


_On that note, while I can’t confirm it a hundred percent, I can confirm that Dean Winchester hared off with his Daddy’s car back in the fall of 1993, while in Florida on family business. Something of a practical joke - his Daddy and his brother were not amused, I don’t mind telling you. He’s since inherited that car. It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala, black (since you’re an enthusiast)._  


_I could just about turn that boy over my knee! No aspersions on your friend Lily, but Dean should have been more careful. It’s past now I suppose._  


_Look over that list. Take care and keep that boy safe._  


Bobby

**[In Care of Madeline Brokefeld]**

January 5, 2010

Bobby,

 _Happy New Year to you, then. The children have returned to school and there is nothing to keep me from returning to my self-appointed task. It was… an interesting and eventful gathering over the holidays. Harry knows that he has another father out there - so many people keep secrets from him, and that one truth, at least, I am unwilling to conceal. I felt he at least had a right to know the man’s name, and the nature of his conception; the explanation was both awkward and amusing - the boy thought I was setting him down for the dreaded ‘Talk’ you see. Of course, I was after a fashion - I am pleased to report to you that he was suitably mortified by the entire thing._  


_You were right that the list of identifiers was not especially helpful - for the sake of argument each one was employed and proved no result or ill effect. However, the information was fascinating. I hope you do not mind, but I have passed along your most recent notes to a companion of mine who is more academic and is something of an expert on European creature behavior and habitats. In turn, he asked that I pass on to you a book about creatures of Great Britain and Ireland (the man is too modest for his own good; he wrote the book, though he would never admit to it)._  


_I have begun the New Year with turning my line of inquiry to the potential number of artifacts. The… originator of these objects would likely apply a magically significant number. I suspect the most likely number of artifacts to be either ‘3’, ‘7’, or ’11’. I am tempted to eliminate ‘3’ simply because I do not think it would be enough for this bastard. I’m leaning more towards ‘7’, which is not only magically well balanced and proved to be lucky, but also strengthens ward patterns or rituals when the magic is meant to disguise or conceal from sight. ’11’ is both a prestigious and powerful numerical symbol, but I dare to hope that would be too many objects to remain stable, even for him. Perhaps you have some insight?_  


_Enjoy the book._  


Sirius

**[In Care of Kingsley Shacklebolt]**

February 3, 2010

Sirius,

 _Thank you for the book - and thank your friend for me. I have to say, you Brits got lucky with your creatures - not near as terrifying as some of what we’ve got here. It’s not a proper book, but I’ve included some copies of my own notes here about our home grown critters if you think your friend would like to have them._  


_Look - this bastard of yours, he probably likes to make a big deal about himself, right? Likes to show off? I figure you’re on to something with the number 7. Adds a bit of flash he can feel superior about, even if no one knows exactly what for. Based on your previous research, I think if he’d attempted 11 of them that there wouldn’t be enough of him to piece together. Your Godson’s predicament was likely accidental - don’t think he’d want an artifact running loose on it’s own. If he’s breaking into pieces accidentally after 7 of them, 11 is more unlikely. It’s what I think, anyway._  


_Sirius, what’s the boy like? Can you tell me a bit about him? Only - when Winchester gets in touch again it might be helpful to have something more to tell him about the kid aside from “he exists”._  


_Keep your nose clean._  


Bobby

**[In Care of Madeline Brokefeld]**

February 21, 2010

Bobby,

 _First: I passed along your notes. They were promptly devoured. My companion was absolutely fascinated by them, It appears you’ve set him on a new academic tangent in studying the divergence of magical evolution in various creatures - he has asked me to forward a list of questions to you, which I have enclosed._  


_You are right of course - Our villain is of the megalomaniacal sort, and prone to grand gestures which take place at important junctions - Samhain, Beltane, that sort of rot. In some aspects it makes him predictable. I am now attempting a list of objects of historical significance or value which he may have used to create his artifacts._  


_What to tell you about my Godson. I am ashamed of how much of his life I have missed out on, even now I cannot see him so much as I would wish._  


_His name is Harry. He’s a beautiful child - he was a beautiful babe, so no surprise. I daresay he won’t be tall when he’s grown, to his disappointment, he is of a slender build, and his limbs are stretched long like most teenage boys his age. Also like most teenagers his age, he’s a bit stroppy, and prone to brooding in his room. Harry is 15, have I told you that? He has black hair that is persistently untidy and green eyes, and he wears spectacles. He’s very clever at piecing information together and making leaps of logic. He’s not a bad student, but neither is he especially bent towards academics. Harry plays on his house sports team at school - so far, the only match he’s lost is one where he was knocked out by some rather dark creatures, otherwise he has an unmatched winning streak._  


_A former teacher of his describes him as an old soul. Harry is rather mature for his age, not surprising given his circumstances. He possesses a generous and compassionate heart, a great deal like his Mother. Quick tempered, particularly so when in defense of others, and far too inquisitive for his own health - there are a number of dangerous situations he might have avoided if he had only not been so curious. God help him, but the boy has a smart mouth that frequently gets him in and out of trouble._  


_Harry is a very easy boy to love; he is a son to be proud of - I am so fearful for him. He has had to fight for his life more times than he has admitted to me in the last four years. He’s so young. It is my wish that he be able to know at least one parent. I would give all of them back to him, if I could._  


_My thanks,_  


Sirius


	4. June 8, 2010, Scotland

# June 8, 2010: Scotland

## Hogwarts Castle

Ron Weasley has never been this angry.  


 

He’s a laid back bloke, not given to much introspection. He’ll leave the brooding and the mood swings up to Harry and Hermione, thanks.  


 

This righteous fury, that has him pacing the narrow corridor of the passage behind the one-eyed witch, hands fisted anxiously in his trouser pockets, has burnt away confusing thoughts and emotions. What’s left behind is the stark clarity he usually only gets when playing chess. _But then_ , he thinks angrily, _They’re going about it like it’s a chess game_.  


 

Well, Ron can certainly see about twenty moves ahead, and what could happen to his friend, should things continue on as they are. He doesn’t need Hermione to point it out to him.  


 

Likewise, Ron thinks he can see the steps he needs to take to derail this great pile of rubbish.  


 

Bloody Hell, he hopes that Harry will go along with this, even if he doesn’t forgive him. Ron stops pacing and jerks the Map out of his pocket, tapping it with his wand and muttering the pass phrase. His eyes trail from his own location, following the path of the tunnel and his shoulders sag with relief as two familiar names appear from off the edge of the parchment. Ron erases the Map and stuffs it back in his pocket, continuing to pace while tapping his wand against the side of his leg.  


 

There is an echo of footsteps as the tunnel starts to grey with approaching wandlight.  


 

“Ron?”  


 

“Over here, you two.”  


 

The twins stride quickly towards their younger brother, lit wands hovering over him as they peer closely, visibly relaxed when Ron appears to be well.  


 

“Alright, little brother, what’s this all about? Your letter made out like it was life and death.”  


 

“Dear _sweet_ Hedwig just about pecked our eyeballs out.”  


 

“Quite anxious, she was - “  


 

“Shut it, both of you!”  


 

Ron casts an unnecessary glance over his shoulder before shifting in closer to his older brothers and lowering his voice.  


 

“Look - you’re not to breathe a word of this to the Order, not to our parents, and definitely not to Dumbledore.” he growled out lowly.  


 

The twins’ expressions grew more serious.  


 

“Right, then.”  


 

“What do you need us to do?”  


 

Ron looked each of his brothers in the eye before pointing at the twins and stating firmly:  


 

“I need to get Harry out of the country - and Hermione and me - non-magically, as soon as possible. And I need your help to keep it from everyone for as long as possible to keep them from finding out when we left.”  


 

Fred and George looked at one another for a long moment before they turned narrowed eyes back to their youngest brother.  


 

“Alright, spill - “  


 

“What’s going on -“  


 

“- and where’s Harry?”  


 

Ron drew in a deep breath.  


 

“Remember, not a word to anyone…”  


 

## Hours Previous

Four days after what the papers were now calling The Battle of the Department of Mysteries, found Harry and Ron tucked away on Ron’s four-poster in their dorm room playing chess. Ron had been out of the hospital wing two days; Hermione was still laid up, but she’d been conscious for three days now and though still confined to bed, was allowed to carefully sit up to read and eat.  


 

Harry hadn’t been saying much, but he’d kept close to Ron in a rather half-distracted fashion, and Ron was determined to keep him company. He was just about to nudge Harry with his foot to get him to take a turn when they heard pecking at the window.  


 

Ron got up and opened the casement to let in a grumpy eagle owl that seemed to purposefully catch him in the head with its wingtip as it made its way over to where Harry still sat on the bed.  


 

Ron tried to warn his friend as he tentatively reached for the envelope.  


 

“Hold up mate, that’s -“  


 

“ _Ouch_!”  


 

“An official Gringotts owl, looks like.” He sighed. Harry glared at the creature has he wrapped his hand up in the hem of his t-shirt and grumbled.  


 

“Ruddy great bird.”  


 

“Yeah, but look - see what it’s doing there?”  


 

After smearing its bloody beak on the wax seal binding the folded parchment, the creature released the missive from its talons and took off as the seal snapped and the thick roll uncurled to lay flat in a tidy thick stack on the coverlet.  


 

“Bill’s told me they’re trained to it - seals opened with the recipient’s blood are meant to keep things confidential.”  


 

Harry sucked on his finger as he lifted the first page.  


 

“Yeah, well they could…“ he stopped and his eyes widened behind his glasses as they swept over the first sheet, and then the next.  


 

“Harry? Mate, what is it?”  


 

Harry wordlessly shoved the first sheet of parchment at Ron as he continued reading. Ron brought the parchment up to his face to peer closer at it.  


Harry,  


 

 _The pile of notes and research you are looking at are issued from a self-updating file I had established with my accounts at Gringotts. The originals are spelled and locked away in my private desk in the house, and this is the only copy for which you are the intended recipient._  


 

 _In the event that something happens to me, these are meant to be mailed to you within the week. If I have not spoken to you already about my research here, I ask that you be careful. This information pertains to you, our presiding villain of Great Britain, and what must be done to deny him his apparent immortality permanently._  


 

 _Harry, what I want most is for you to live, to do so freely and happily. I said, once, as I held you in my arms for the first time at your Christening - ‘I name you, Harry James Potter, as your parents name you. I confer on you the blessings of the House of Black, such as they are, and swear to love, guide and defend you. So I, Sirius Orion Black, do swear.’_  


 

 _I just needed you to know that._  


 

Sirius  


 

At a low moan, Ron looked up to see a number of sheets spread out over the covers flutter down to the stone floor as Harry suddenly rolled off the mattress and stumbled to the bathroom.  


 

“Harry, what’s - “ Ron caught up to his friend as he began retching into a toilet.  


 

“Harry!”  


 

Alarmed now, Ron reached down to help his friend up, but Harry pushed him back.  


 

“D-don’t! Don’t touch me.” Harry dragged himself upright and stumbled back out of the bathroom.  


 

“Come on, mate, what’s going on? Why don’t we get you up to the hospital wing if you’re ill? Harry?”  


 

But Harry was ignoring him in favor of digging through his trunk.  


 

“Ron, I - I need to go. I need to do something. Would - would you mind keeping an eye on Hedwig for me? Tell Hermione bye for me? I just… I think I need…” Harry’s rambling trailed off as he stood and looked at Ron.  


 

Ron looked into Harry’s eyes and thought he might sick up as well. Never had he seen anyone looking so desperate. His friend looked entirely lost and Ron was struck cold with the knowledge that if he let Harry walk out of the Tower now, he’d never see him again.  


 

Harry had turned to distractedly search his bedside table drawer and so did not notice as Ron quietly slipped his wand out of his pocket and stepped up behind him, and muttered a low ‘ _Stupefy_ ’. Ron’s wand slipped from his own fingers as Harry’s stunned body slumped to the floor.  


 

“ _Shite_.”  


 

Ron ran his hands through his hair and, beginning to panic, looked around the room for inspiration, or some assistance. His eyes fell on the scattered sheets of parchment, then back to Harry, before skittering over to the door.  


 

“Shite - okay. Bloody _hell_ what’ve I done…”  


 

Realizing that another one of their dorm mates may return at any moment, Ron scrabbled on the floor for his wand, before charming the door locked. He looked back down at his friend, before swearing softly again.  


 

“Sorry about this, mate. Erm, _Wingardium Leviosa_.”  


 

Harry’s prone form lifted into the air as Ron clumsily floated him to his bed, cursing as he knocked his friend’s head on a post and nearly dropped him in his panic. Harry’s body collapsed rather awkwardly on to the mattress and Ron briefly attempted to arrange his limbs more comfortably before giving it up as a bad job and tossing a blanket over the boy before pulling the curtains partly closed around the four-poster. He tried to gather the fallen parchment back into some order as he collected the sheets, sure that there was some spell for it that Hermione would know.  


 

 _Hermione_ \- he would have to tell her. After he had a look at whatever it was that had made Harry desperate all of a sudden. Casting a last look at his friend, Ron began to read, growing pale and queazy as he did so.  


 

Pages filled with cramped writing, hand drawn diagrams, excerpts and references from other books Ron had never heard of. Though the technicalities were a bit beyond him, several important facts stood out: one, that Voldemort had broken off bits of himself that needed to be destroyed before he could die properly. That Voldemort had left a piece of himself behind in Harry, and it needed to be got rid of. That the Headmaster almost certainly knew and had worked to conceal the knowledge from everyone, including Harry; Sirius’s belief that Albus Dumbledore intended for Harry to die chilled Ron. If Sirius, half-mad as he was from prison, could scrape together some possible solution that didn’t require Harry to go off himself, then why couldn’t Dumbledore?  


 

Ron scrubbed his face with his hands. Right. He could do this - he wouldn’t cry. No way was Ron going to let his best mate go and off himself or whatever it was he’d been about to go and do. There was again tapping at the glass and Ron froze in the middle of gathering together the mess of parchment.  


 

He perked up as he went to let Hedwig in, purpose and the seeds of a plan forming in his mind. She barked at him reproachfully before fluttering over to Harry’s bed, alternately preening and crooning agitatedly at her master when he did not wake to greet her.  


 

“Hedwig?”  


 

She looked up at Ron and hissed. Ron swallowed a bit - He could admit Hedwig’s proprietary behavior around his friend made him a bit nervous.  


 

“Could you take a letter for me? Only I’m trying to get help for Harry…?”  


 

She instantly winged her way over to his own bed. Ron would swear that when she dug her talons into his coverlet that she tore into it on purpose.  


 

“Right - um, _Accio_ quill.”  


 

He dashed out a note, giving instructions to Hedwig as he folded the scrap of parchment.  


 

“Now, this needs to get to Fred and George. Go as fast as you can, and bugger them if they don’t leave right away, yeah?”  


 

She seemed to eye him a moment before barking an assent and grasping his missive in her talons quickly taking flight out the window. Ron hoped she’d get there before the day was out, he wanted to see his brothers soon as possible - tonight, if he could.  


 

Thinking about what he needed to do, Ron steeled himself with a breath, gathered up the rest of the scattered sheets, and stuffed the lot into his transfiguration book - wouldn’t do for anyone to see it and get ideas…  


 

Still planning, he went to root around Harry’s satchel for his Invisibility Cloak and Map. It was just gone afternoon, so Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t be fussed about Hermione having visitors. Ron looked back over at Harry and paused for a moment tapping his wand nervously against his leg, before striding over to his friend’s bed and casting another stunner at him. No doubt there was a better way to keep him out for the time being, but Ron didn’t know it. He’d see about knicking a bit of Dreamless Sleep from the infirmary - or maybe the matron would give him a phial if he told her it was for Harry? It wouldn’t be a lie…  


 

 _Merlin_ , he thought to himself, as he snapped his friend’s curtains the rest of the way closed, _Harry’s going to hex my bits off_. He wrapped the cloak about his transfiguration book and stuffed the bundle in his own satchel before striding out of the Tower and towards the hospital wing to talk to Hermione about this fresh disaster.  


 

## ~*~

 

Hermione absently traced the silvered lettering on the cover of Gladys Escribar’s Elegant Office: Charms and Spells for the Organized Enchanter. At her urging, Ron had brought her this as well as several other books from the library.  


 

When Ron came stomping up to her bed, alone and absolutely boiling mad, she’d worried that perhaps he’d had a tiff with Harry. She became more concerned when, after peering around, he shut her curtains and threw up a silencing charm without so much as a 'by your leave', before reaching in to his satchel and tossing something invisible on to the foot of her bed.  


 

“Ron, has something happened?” He looked at her and swallowed nervously, before passing Hermione a thick sheaf of parchment he’d extracted from a book bundled in Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.  


 

“Just… Read through this first, okay?” He held up a ragged bit of parchment. “I’ll keep an eye out while you read over it. That… the stuff in there’s pretty dark, Hermione. Just so you know.” He leaned against the wall by her bed, scanning the opened Map. Curious and more than a little wary, Hermione tapped the parchment with her wand, absently wondering why Ron snorted as the jumble shuffled and rearranged itself into proper order before reading.  


 

Hermione sorely wished she could scrub herself clean by the end of it. Frustrated tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she thought of what this must be doing to Harry on top of everything else that had happened recently.  


 

“Oh No - Where’s Harry? He can’t have taken it well… He - he hasn’t left, has he?” She looked at the foot of her bed where Ron’s bag still sat, then up to her friend who was determinedly not looking at her. The wheels in her mind began to turn as she came to several possible conclusions.  


 

“Ron - _what did you **do** _?”  
__

 

“I stunned him.”  


 

Hermione sputtered at that -  


 

“Twice.”  


 

“Why?”  


 

Ron scrubbed tiredly at his face with his hands before looking over at her.  


 

“He was upset and he was going to leave - some nonsense about minding his owl, having me tell you goodbye from him, _bloody hell_ , if I’d let him walk out that door we’d have never seen him again. He’d sure as _shite_ lost the plot and I couldn’t let him, Hermione, I _couldn’t_ …” Ron’s jaw tightened as he trailed off.  


 

“He needs to leave - I’m going to talk to the twins tonight, maybe we can get an international portkey or something… We need to find that bloke that was writing to Sirius - ” Ron stopped when he saw Hermione shake her head.  


 

“Ron if -“ She drew in a shaky breath; “If we’re going to leave the country, we’ll have to do it the muggle way. It’s in the paper already that the Ministry is planning to place a moratorium on international travel. They’re trying to keep people from emigrating out of panic.”  


 

Ron huffed out a breath. “Easier pickings for Death Eaters, more like. Right. So - so you’ll come with us, then? What about your parents? What’ll you tell them?” Hermione stared off to the side at her bed curtain long moments, before turning back to Ron and stating with an unreadable expression.  


 

“Let me worry about them - we’ll need all sorts of things to make this work - you and Harry’ll need passports and, and - oh!”  


 

“Make a list of what we need so I can show it to Fred and George - Merlin, if we’re going to have to get on one of those muggle flying things, I might just let Harry stun me back.”  


 

Hermione snorted.  


 

“It’s called an airplane Ron. Yes, we’ll have to ride in one. They’re not so bad - the flight over shouldn’t be more than twelve hours. We’re going to need passports with different names, muggle currency in Euros and American Dollars, enough so that we can travel… Maybe - could the twins fetch a laptop from an electronics shop, do you think? We’ll need to pick up some mobiles too, in case we get separated, but we might wait and get those in the states. Don’t just stand there Ron, pass me some parchment and a quill so I can make a list.” She gathered up her frizzled hair distractedly and tied it back into a loose bun as he rooted around the bottom of his bag for ink, parchment and quills, which he dutifully passed to her.  


 

“Alright, I’ll also need a few books from the library, don’t roll your eyes at me you prat, and I’ll need to send an owl to my parents - would you take it up to the Owlery and send it off for me later please? Do you think you’ll have time to bring down the books before you meet with your brothers? I’ll need them before I write my letter - But what about the other objects? We can’t exactly go searching for those if we’re overseas and -“ Ron cut her off.  


 

“ I think the twins can help us with that.” He said slowly. “ We’re going to want to hide it for as long as possible that we’ve gone, but realistically that won’t be much time. I don’t want to leave anything written down, but I’ll tell Fred and George about the warded desk in Sirius’s rooms. If Bill and Professor Lupin are on it, I think those two’ll be better placed to figure out what the rest of them are, where they are and destroy them. It’s exactly the sort of thing Bill gets paid to do, and… and I think that the professor will be just as hopping mad with the Headmaster as I am. I’m _hoping_ he will, at least.”  


 

Hermione nearly growled as she burst out.  


 

“I can’t believe he _knew_! The Headmaster's known all this time and hasn’t done a _thing_ about it! Or nothing that’s solved the problem, and it’s not as if that, that _man_ hasn’t had time to do it in. Of course I don’t have any references in front of me at the moment but the theory here is clever enough, I think it could really work! You don’t… you don’t _really_ think he means for Harry to die, in the end, do you?” she ended in a small voice and her lip trembled as she continued. “ After everything, how could he ask him to do that? Harry deserves _better_ than that!” Hermione let out a sobbing cough and Ron quickly leaned in to give her an awkward hug and gentle pat.  


 

“I’m angry at him too - but look. We’re going to fix it. Neither of us is going to let Harry die, yeah? It’s going to be alright, you’ll see.”  


 

Hermione sniffled a bit and scrubbed at her eyes. “You’re right. We’re going to fix it. Ooh that _prat_! Trying to hare off without telling me goodbye, I could just shake him!” Ron chuckled a bit and helped Hermione settle back onto the pillows.  


 

“Has Madame Pomfrey said yet when you’ll be out?”  


 

Two more days - but I’ll be taking potions well in to the next month, so if this plan with your brothers involves polyjuice, I’m not going to be able to take that.”  


 

He nodded “Yeah, go ahead and put that down too then, so I don’t forget to tell them. Where’s your booklist, I’ll go to the library now and fetch them down.” She passed him her notes, and Sirius’s notes for him to bundle back up.  


 

“I’ll want to see those again, but not before I’ve made something to hide them in.”  


 

Ron cleared the map and packed up his bag, before dispelling his silencing charm. “I’ll be back soon as I get these” He waved the lengthy booklist in his hand at her as he left, and she could hear Ron knocking on the matron’s office door and asking for a phial of Dreamless Sleep before making his way out of the Hospital Wing.  


 

While she waited for Ron to return, Hermione turned her thoughts to what she ought to tell her parents. She hated whenever she had to lie to her Mum and Dad. Something closer to the truth was usually best - maybe say that she was doing a study abroad program over summer? She’d compose the letter and look over one of the books on charmed stationary she was having Ron bring to her. Hermione knew there was at least one spell that could be applied to the parchment to make it automatically disappear when signed by her parents and reappear to her, and she could charm the quill and ink to look quite official.  


 

Her heart stuttered at the knowledge that it would not be safe for them to stay in Britain this summer. The thought made her feel guiltier than ever, but maybe she could encourage them to take a vacation without her, and a bit earlier than they would usually have done…  


 

And now, some hours later, here she was. Ron had since come and gone with her library books, and she’d composed her missives - two; one to look like an official notice from the school for study abroad, the other a letter from her asking for permission she was sure they would give. Both letters were as subtly and heavily charmed as she could get away with, and had only to be sent.  


 

 _I am going to be in so much trouble after this_ , Hermione thought to herself.  


 

Oh, if they found out she was sure they’d never let her return to Hogwarts - possibly, they’d never let Hermione out of the house! Resigned to it, Hermione sighed, put aside Escribar’s book and picked up Wizardspace and You: From Homes to Handbags - Charming and the Principles of Compactification Made Somewhat Less Difficult.  


 

 _So, so much trouble_. She thought as she began skimming the index.  


 

## ~*~

“So, let’s get this straight -“  


“Clarify things, if you will -“  


“You’re telling us that the Great Dark Tosser himself -“  


“Broke off bits of himself in order to live forever.”  


Ron nodded. “Pieces of his soul, yes. And they’re dangerous - remember the Diary that nearly killed Ginny her first year? Harry destroyed that one.”  


Fred and George both looked grim and furious at that reminder.  


“Alright. So _because_ he broke off so many, He’s started falling apart.”  


“And that’s why a bit of himself latched on to Harry.”  


Ron swallowed and nodded once more.  


“Right. And this friend of Sirius’s overseas -“  


“You really think he can help get it out of Harry, without killing him?”  


“He’s the only person so far who seems to have an idea how.” Ron said gravely. “Dumbledore certainly doesn’t seem to have put together that much. Besides, this bloke seems to know Harry’s dad, and I think that gives him more of a reason to help him than if he were just some random stranger. His letters make out like he’s worried about Harry, at least.”  


“Yeah, still can’t believe no one else knows about that bit.”  


“Where’s this list of Hermione’s then?”  


Ron passed it over to Fred silently. His brothers looked over it for a moment before looking back up.  


“We can get this sorted in two days, including the computer. Remind her not to power it up until after you’re all well away from anything heavily magical.”  


“When are you planning to leave?”  


Ron answered quietly. “Hermione won’t be out of the hospital wing for another two days, and she’ll need at least another day to get her things together and get on her feet a bit. She’s going to be sore and on potions for a while yet. It would be best to leave while Hogwarts is still in session, maybe the day before the leaving feast, but two if we can manage it would be better, give us more time before everyone figures out we’ve gone. There’ll need to be three stand-ins for us - do you have someone who can do for Hermione until you all get on the train? She said her parents are going to think she’s doing a study abroad with the school, so they won’t be waiting for her at the station, we won’t have to worry about anyone meeting her.”  


George nodded slowly.  


“So - three days before everyone returns on the train, possibly a couple more after - five days maximum. I think we can manage that - what say you, Fred?”  


“I say ‘aye’, George!”  


“Aye, aye!”  


Ron rolled his eyes, but thanked both his brothers feelingly anyways.  


“So, how are we to be about destroying these _objects_ again?”  


“Well, Sirius’s notes said _Fiendfyre_ and Basilisk Venom were the only likely ways to manage it. I figure, when Harry wakes up and gets done hexing me, we can nip down to the chamber to see if we can get a fang or two off of the carcass…” he trailed off at the look of his brothers.  


“A _whole_ Basilisk carcass, brother mine?”  


Ron shivered. “Right. You know what? You two can nip down with Harry and do it - in fact, use that to help pay for this whole jaunt because it’s going to be bloody expensive and that thing is just rotting away down there. I expect Harry will feel the same.”  


Plans were made and the twins agreed to meet with Ron again in two days time when they would return with the required contraband. After his brothers leave, Ron checks the Map once more to see if the corridor into the castle is clear before throwing the Cloak over himself and climbing out of the passage. He’ll return to the Hospital Wing and tell Hermione about the twins’ visit. And try not to think too hard about what’ll happen when he finally wakes his other best friend.  


## ~*~

Dean taps his thumbs against the steering wheel as Sam hangs up the phone at the Ranger’s station and ambles back to the passenger side door.  


“Well?” Dean asks, as Sam slides in and buckles his seatbelt. His brother shrugs.  


“Not much to tell. Police should be out soon to investigate though, so we need to head out.”  


Dean cranks up the Impala in response and pulls out of the gravel drive of the state park.  


“Where’re we headed then?” he asks as they pull onto the main highway.  


Sam huffs in annoyance as Dean begins rooting around blindly in the box of cassettes and reaches for his own bag to fish out his laptop so he can pull up his notes.  


Dean can just catch Sam rolling his eyes from the side as “Can’t Get Enough” by Bad Company belts out of the car’s stereo. He smiles crookedly and cranks the volume up before relaxing back into the driver’s seat. Keeping his eyes on the road, Dean reaches over to slap his brother’s hand away from the volume dial and seeing Sam’s disgruntled expression out of his peripheral makes Dean smirk wider. Ahh, _yes_ , and there’s the accompanying flare of nostrils as Sam tries and fails to tune out the sweet tunes and focus on the notes he’s been scrolling through.  


“Well,” Sam shouts over a chorus of ‘ _I can’t get enough of your love_ ’, “I’ve got a list of violent deaths triangulating around Maple Springs, New York - one person stabbed in the heart, another… had their feet wrapped in hot iron? Okay what? The news reports the most recent attack as three brothers who may have been mauled by something large - a wolf? Could be a werewolf...”  


“Alright, sounds gruesome enough - why’s it on your list? Besides the potential werewolf?”  


“Mostly it’s people suddenly displaying excessive, violent behavior where previously there’s no history of it. It’s all centered in about a 15 mile radius in and around the Maple Springs area - this feels a lot like when we were in Ohio a few weeks ago, you know? We’re only about four hours away, we could take a look tomorrow at least?”  


“Alright - New York, land of the apple muffin - we’ll head out in the morning!”  


“How do you even _know_ that?” Sam wonders aloud as the cassette fades into the verses of another song ‘ _… Close my eyes and I let myself go. Listen to, oh baby, let the music flow…_ ’.  


“It’s nearly perfect, Sam - almost like apple pie, it’s got all that crumbly, crunchy cinnamon stuff on top! It’s important.”  


“Uh huh, to your stomach maybe. I still don’t get how you learned this stuff.” Dean claps Sam roughly on the shoulder and musses his grumpy and bewildered brother’s hair.  


“Don’t worry, Sammy boy - one day you, too, will remember that blueberry muffins are the State muffin of Minnesota and that the corn muffin is the State muffin of Massachusetts. Study hard and you’ll get it down eventually.” Sam only rolls his eyes and goes back to work at his computer, though he’s smiling a bit. They continue on in silence overlaid by the vocals of Paul Rodgers and Mick Ralph.  


Dean’s not blind to the fact that Sam has been worried. About him. Much as he might try and pretend otherwise, the mental counter in the back of his mind continues to whisper to him that over six and half, nearly seven months have flown by since his Deal was struck.  


Dean is… okay is _definitely_ not the right word. Resigned to it, maybe. He’s not in denial (not about his impending death, anyway), and he hasn’t been ignoring the topic, exactly. There are just other things that were more important, or more immediate, or more _now_. This time he’s spending with Sam, for one. **That** is important. Helping people where they can, or helping people find closure, or putting some depraved creature out of everyone else’s misery - **that’s** important. His little brother is so, _so_ smart, smarter than Dean - so why can’t Sam see that the Deal Dean made over half a year ago is signed, sealed, and awaiting delivery? It was now fact; it's ironclad and no longer up for discussion - which means there **is** no discussion, so far as Dean is concerned. But his stubborn, bullheaded little brother will not stop pushing, and Dean can’t risk Sam doing something to get himself killed instead. He just can’t.  


Yes, there are a few people he wants to see before he dies, some places he might like to visit (he might try talking Sam in to stopping over in Wisconsin at the Mr. Pancake); but in his books it’s all more or less business as usual. What does Dean even have to tie him to life, really, except Sam? Isn’t it better this way, in the end? How could he even have any proper regrets, if dying means Sam would still be here - if nothing else, Sam has always been the one person in this miserable family with a real out of the business.  


Now if he could only manage to convince Sam of that - convince him to go back and finish school maybe. Convince him that his life will be better off without Dean - that he’ll be okay without Dean there hovering in the background to keep dragging him back.  


‘ _And I’m movin’ on, movin’ on from town to town Movin’ on, baby, yeah I’m never touchin’ the ground_ ’.  


## ~*~

Harry groaned as he slowly returned to consciousness. He tried to muffle the pounding between his eyes with his pillow.  


It wasn’t working, if the increasing ache and building pressure on his sinuses were any sort of sign.  


“Here.” The words mumbled so that he barely understood them as lanky, blurry arms helped him sit up from the mattress and a cool glass with beaded condensation was thrust into his unsteady hands.  


“Drink it down, Hermione said that would help a bit.”  


Harry sniffed at the glass, but it was just minted water. Polishing off the drink did indeed help his furious headache and he leaned back against his headboard trying to piece together what, exactly, had happened and why in the world he felt so awful. As his vision swam into better focus, helped along by his glasses, which had also been passed into his hands from who he now realized was Ron, Harry’s memory began to settle to place as well.  


“Sirius… and he said - _you_! Did you bloody stun me? And - hold on.” Harry rolled his tongue around in his mouth, noticing a much too familiar aftertaste of old socks underneath the mint, "Did you _drug me_?!" Ron cut him off before Harry could work himself up into any more of a temper.  


“You great prat! _Yes_ , I stunned you - you were going to leave, and you weren’t thinking clearly, and Hermione is furious with you by the way, just _wait_ until she gets out of the hospital wing tomorrow, I expect she’ll really let you have it! Now you shut up and listen to me, because neither of us is letting you go off to Merlin knows where to get yourself killed! We are going to go, _together_ , !and we are going to fix this. **Together**. Harry, I swear to bloody Merlin, Morgana and the _Court_ , Hermione and I are not letting you deal with this shite on your own! The Headmaster has lost his mind if he thinks we’re going to let _anything_ happen to you.” Ron, gone quite red in the face, was breathing heavily and staring furiously at Harry, who was now backed up against the headboard in shock, as well as to give himself some room since Ron had been leaning in to Harry’s personal space in his tirade. He was sure his friend had never resembled Molly Weasley more than he did in that moment. Harry answered back in a smaller voice.  


“I… I don’t want to get either of you killed! I couldn’t bear it if you or Hermione got hurt too…” Ron visibly calmed some at Harry's stricken expression.  


__

“That’s our choice to make, Harry. You can’t make that decision for us. I know I’ve been a bit of a berk, but we’ve hung in there this long, you’re not getting rid of us now. We’ve already made all the arrangements and plans, so you’re stuck with us, mate.” Ron gave Harry a small, somewhat knowing smile.  


__

__

Still a bit unsure, Harry asked “ Where - where are the papers Sirius sent me?”  


__

__

“They’re safe.” Ron assured. “I tucked them away in one of my books, and wrapped it up in your cloak - it’s tucked under some ugly yellow socks in the bottom of your trunk.” he wrinkled his nose at that. Harry let out a sigh of relief.  


__

__

“Oh - okay then. So - so what’s this plan you’ve come up with anyway? What day even is it?”  


__

__

“Oh! right.” Ron looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah - it’s only Wednesday, the 9th. You were only out for the night. It’s nearly breakfast - s’why I woke you up, I expect you’re hungry. We’ll go eat and then we’re going up to the Hospital Wing and ‘Mione and I can tell you about everything that’s going to happen. So - get up, get dressed, and we’ll go, yeah?” Ron moved back, a bit unsure now.  


__

__

Harry nodded slowly, and absently noticed Ron relax a bit as his friend smiled properly, this time. Perhaps Ron had been worried that Harry would try to take off again? But now that he’d slept on it (literally - he’d had no choice and he was _so_ going to get Ron back for that, very, _very_ soon), Harry felt increasingly ridiculous for the way he'd behaved yesterday. What would he have even done? It wasn’t as if he could just knock on the door to Voldemort’s lair and ask him where he kept his rotten soul bits. He hadn’t been thinking - and wasn’t that something Harry had promised himself not to do anymore, taking off without a thought?  


__

__

Ron was already in the shower when Harry entered with his own bundle of clothes and towel. He considered for a moment, the steam rising from the top of Ron’s stall and the overhanging pipes that lead into it, and smirked. After charming the taps impervious on his own chosen shower stall, Harry quickly whispered a freezing spell at Ron’s taps and jumped in to enjoy his own hot water as his friend yelped and stumbled trying to get out of a stream of water that had suddenly gone icy.  


__

__

“You are an _arse_ , Potter!” Harry laughed, and called back.  


__

__

“S’what you get for stunning a bloke in the back, _Weasley_!” Harry ducked and laughed again as an icy, sodden wash rag came soaring over the divide into his cubicle and past his head.  


__

__

“ _Harry James Potter_! You enormous, _ridiculous, **bloody prat**_!” Harry winced a little and blushed.  


__

__

“Hullo, ‘Mione.”  


__

__

“Don’t you - ooh, don’t you ‘ _Hullo, ‘Mione_ ’ me! I just want to ring your neck! How could you _think_ to go off like that without us?! We _love_ you, Harry! Ron and I are worried _sick_ about you! We’re not about to let you go off and try to deal with Albus Dumbledore’s and You-Know-Who’s mess all on your own like this!” Harry started to feel like a bit of a heel as Hermione began to sniffle.  


__

__

“I’m sorry, Hermione - I wasn’t thinking yesterday. I know I was being an idiot, but with everything else, and you know the last thing I could ever want is for you or Ron to get hurt, and just… Well, I’m sorry, is all.” He took her hand and squeezed it as he seated himself on the edge of her bed, Ron settling on her other side. Hermione’s lower lip wobbled a bit, before she suddenly reached out to Harry and Ron and pulled them into an uncomfortable hug, Ron patting her back gently, if someone awkwardly. After a moment she settled back against her pillows. Wiping at her eyes, she nodded firmly.  


__

__

“Just remember not to do it again.” she said primly, though her voice still threatened tears.  


__

__

“I’ll try to remember.” Harry agreed sheepishly, and swallowed. “So what are we going to do, Ron says there’s a plan, but for what…?” Hermione’s face lit up as she spoke.  


__

__

“Oh yes! There’s a lot to do, but Ron’s devised quite a clever plan, and I think it’ll work.” Ron’s ears reddened at her praise and he began to explain.  


__

__

The next afternoon found Harry, Ron, and a recently released Hermione in a cozy room made up of mismatched overstuffed armchairs set around a center brazier in the Room of Requirement. While no longer the most secret meeting place in Hogwarts, Hermione had wanted to meet with Fred and George as well, and Harry and Ron reckoned that spending her first day out of Madame Pomfrey’s domain in a chilly, damp, moldy stone passage wasn’t exactly the done thing. Brow furrowed, Hermione was alternately scratching down notations onto parchment spread out on an end table by her chair and waving her wand over a small beaded blue handbag. Ron was staring pensively into the fire in the middle of the room and Harry, as usual, was pacing a hole in the floor as they waited.  


__

__

A clock on the wall chimed a quarter past three as the door opened, and Fred and George crept in to the room.  


__

__

“Well, look at this then, Fred - “  


__

__

“By _George_ , George! Not a moment out of the hospital wing -“  


__

__

“And she’s already flinging spells left and right -“  


__

__

“Taking notes, even!”  


__

__

“Oy, you two! S’enough, leave off.” Ron called to his brothers.  


__

__

“No worries, little brother -“  


__

__

“We’re just happy to see that Hermione here -“  


__

__

“Is up and looking well, is all.” the twins turned to her.  


__

__

“We really are, you know - And _here’s_ our dear Harrikins!”  


__

__

“Lookit, Fred, he’s awake! So Ron finally let you up, did he?”  


__

__

The twins each put an arm around Harry and guided him towards the chairs, Fred leaning in on his left shoulder to whisper into his ear.  


__

__

“You can tell us mate. What’d you do -“  


__

__

“To pay ickle Ronnie back?” George finished in his other ear. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes.  


__

__

“Charmed his pipes frozen while he was in the shower -“  


__

__

“And it was bloody cold, you berk.” Ron sniped. The twins laughed as Ron threw a bit of crumpled parchment at them in retaliation and Hermione smacked Harry’s arm, though she was smiling. Everyone quieted though as Ron, suddenly serious, asked.  


__

__

“Were you able to get everything?” The twins nodded in unison.  


__

__

“We did, at that.” George pulled a rather large rectangular box from out of a charmed pocket in his coat, and passed it over to Hermione.  


__

__

“Remember, don’t turn it on until after you’re well away from the platform in Kings Cross.” Hermione nodded and set aside the packaged computer. Harry began digging in his pockets before he produced his bank key, but Fred shook his head when Harry made to pass it to him.  


__

__

“Harry, we’ve made a tidy sum since we’ve left.”  


__

__

“Yeah, mate, doing quite well for ourselves; we’re opening up shop in another month.”  


__

__

“You helped us get our business started, and so we’ve set you up at the bank to receive a sum of the profits every month.” Harry gaped a bit.  


__

__

“But - but that money wasn’t meant to be a loan, or anything! I just wanted you to be able to use it to get your business started…” George smiled cheekily.  


__

__

“And we did!”  


__

__

“And this is how we chose to thank you, so just accept it, Harry.”  


__

__

Ron cut in. “Wait a minute - you’re the one they’ve been going on about as their ‘silent partner’? Is that what you did with your winnings last year then?” Harry blushed and answered sheepishly.  


__

__

“Yeah” He narrowed his eyes at the twins, “No one was meant to know, though.” The twins shrugged together, and each pulled out a weighty looking pouch, which they then passed to Harry.  


__

__

“ _This_ ,” said Fred, “Is two months worth of your earnings from the business. The rest is set to go into your account at Gringotts. What’s in there has been broken up into Galleons, Euros and US dollars, as per request” he nodded at Ron.  


__

__

“And _that_ ,” said George, “Is full of samples from the shop, things you might find useful. It’s not all joke stuff either - we’ve been getting sales orders through the ministry, if you’ll believe it. You’ve no idea how many witches and wizards working there can’t cast a proper Disillusionment charm, or even a Stunner - we made a tidy sum off them selling our invisibility caps and stunning sparklers.”  


__

__

“Thank you.” Harry swallowed. “This means a lot, you helping us.” Fred’s expression turned solemn.  


__

__

“It’s about time someone did - Ron’s right to put all this together.” George nodded towards his brother, who blushed in turn.  


__

__

“Just thank us by listening to him - Even Ron here knows what he’s on about on occasion. The three of you work on finding this bloke you’re going off to look for, we’ll see to things here. Fingers crossed - if everything works out, we may be able to nip this war in the bud before things have a chance to get worse.”  


__

__

Everyone was quiet for a long moment, before Ron continued the conversation.  


__

__

“Right then - what about ID’s? And were you able to get hold of polyjuice?”  


__

__

Fred dug into another coat pocket before passing a stack of leather passport wallets over to Hermione who began looking them over.  


__

__

“There’s two for each of you” He said. “One with a false name, and a second with your real one, just in case you actually need it for something. Both sets will pass muggle and magical inspection, just don’t ask how we got them or where we got them from.” Hermione made a face at that, but nodded and tucked them away in her school bag. George continued.  


__

__

“Now, as for polyjuice - we’ve got a ready supply, we’ll just need some hair from each of you. However, we still haven’t worked out what to do for you, Hermione.”  


__

__

“We suspect you don’t want either of us going about your business, but -“ she interrupted.  


__

__

“About that - I think I have a solution that -“ She paused as the door opened once again to admit two more people. Harry and Ron made to draw their wands, but Hermione called out.  


__

__

“Ginny, Luna! You’re just in time!” the two girls entered and waved as the made their way into the room and settled into the remaining seats.  


__

__

“When Ginny and Luna came by the hospital wing to visit me yesterday, Ginny asked why I was reading up on Extension Charms and Luna asked if I could bring back… something, from our journey, which, I suppose, is what tipped you off we were leaving?” She directed this last at Ginny.  


__

__

“Gurdyroot, if you please. You’ll keep your eye out for some, won’t you Harry?” Luna pleaded. Harry didn’t even blink before nodding and replying.  


__

__

“I’ll do that, Luna - if you’ll only tell me what to look for. If we happen to see any we’ll try and collect it for you.” Ginny smiled at that and Luna nodded seriously and agreed to describe it to Harry tomorrow before dinner.  


__

__

“It was,” Ginny confirmed Hermione’s earlier question. “And I don’t want to know the details right now, either. We’re all going to get caught out, it’s only a matter of when. I don’t know what you three are going to do and it’s better if it stays that way for now. But -“ She turned and looked first at Ron, and then Harry, before turning back to Hermione “The three of you had better be careful. If anything happens to any of you, Mum’ll be digging you up just to put you in your graves again and she won’t be the only one in line to do it.”  


__

__

Ron and Harry both swallowed audibly and even Hermione nodded meekly, before picking up the thread of conversation.  


__

__

“Yes - well, Ginny suggested that she and Luna take turns with the polyjuice for me. They won’t have to pretend further than the train ride home either, since my parents won’t be there to meet me.”  


__

__

George nodded agreeably. “Right, we’ll pass this on to you ladies then. You know when to take her place?” Luna answered as Ginny took the bottle from her brother and pocketed it.  


__

__

“Oh yes,” Luna stated matter-of-factly, “I’ll pretend first - I’ll be sleeping for you, since my room mates won’t think it odd if I’m not around.” Ginny scowled.  


__

__

“Yes, well - Fred, George, I want to… _talk_ to you about something related to that, afterwards, please.” A look passed between the three of them that made Harry shiver just a bit and wonder what, exactly, Ginny had in mind in retaliating against Luna’s housemates. Hermione frowned as well.  


__

__

“Honestly, the more I hear about their behavior, the more I’m inclined to dislike the lot of them.” she grumbled.  


__

__

“You know you can tell us if anyone gives you a hard time, right Luna? You’re our friend.” Harry added firmly.  


__

__

Luna looked mildly surprised at Harry, before smiling sweetly.  


__

__

“Thank you Harry - it’s nice to have so many friends.” He still looked at her with some concern, but Ron continued the topic at hand.  


__

__

“Is there anything else to sort out before we take Fred and George to… ah, somewhere?” he finished lamely. Everyone paused and shook their heads, but one thought did occur to Harry.  


__

__

“Don’t forget that Snape and the Headmaster are both legilimens. Remember to avoid looking either of them in the eye - especially after we’ve gone.” Everyone nodded in affirmative, before Ginny and Luna got up to leave, Ginny reminding the twins to speak to her before taking of that evening.  


__

__

Hermione opted to sit out the journey into the Chamber, and finish her project for their trip instead. Ron, Harry and the twins (now Disillusioned with Harry’s Cloak thrown over their heads for good measure) made their way down to the first floor corridor to the girl’s toilet. The walk was surprisingly free of people and ghosts - even Myrtle had other U-bends to attend to, apparently.  


__

__

Fred and George stopped Harry from opening the Chamber, as they passed his cloak back and dispelled the charms on themselves before waving their wands around the sink in front of the passage and spreading out over the wall.  


__

__

“Have to check for alert charms, don’t we?” Fred answered when asked what they were doing.  


__

__

“Honestly, I’m a bit surprised - it doesn’t seem anyone has put anything up to let the Headmaster know when it’s opened.” George stated, as he tucked his wand up his sleeve. Ron snorted.  


__

__

“Seems a bit stupid to me, but I suppose the Headmaster thought it wasn’t a concern if Harry was the only Parselmouth in the school. All clear then?” The twins nodded and Harry opened the Chamber passage for them. George pulled out and resized some old brooms he’d brought from the Weasley shed for everyone’s use, and they flew down through the large pipe. Harry brought up the rear, so that he could close the pipe behind them.  


__

__

The twins were fascinated by the halls leading up the the chamber, and collected a great deal of snakeskin as they traveled deeper in to the cavernous space. Before opening the doors to the main chamber, each boy cast a Bubblehead charm on himself to keep away the stench of decomposition.  


__

__

Harry and the three Weasley brothers stood staring at the great snake carcass in admiration and disgusted fascination.  


__

__

“Well it’s definitely dead. You know, I thought it’d look smaller now I’m older.” Harry commented. Ron, Fred and George all turned to stare at him. “What?”  


__

__

“I think you - ah - undersold the size a bit there, mate.” George said rather faintly. Fred and Ron only nodded.  


__

__

“Are you sure you’ll be able to get anything off this? It looks like it’s half rotted away.” Ron said, looking distinctly green in the face. Fred nodded.  


__

__

“There’s a lot of good stuff to be had - we can get a fair bit of venom still, and there’s even something of a market for decomposing muscle tissue. Don’t worry about it.” Ron looked as if he would sick up as his brother clapped him on the shoulder.  


__

__

Rendering the enormous carcass was the work of several hours, and after Fred and George left late into the evening, having spoken with their sister, cheerfully weighted down with enough rare creature parts to pay their shop rent for the next two years, Harry and Ron trudged back up to their dorms, stumbled into the showers and soon in to bed - too tired and too disgusted to even eat dinner.  


__

__

Three days of surreptitious packing and preparing flew by. Hermione had stuffed most of their magical supplies, belongings and potions into her beaded bag which she’d managed to alter splendidly with an undetectable (and slightly illegal) extension charm. The only magical objects they’d left out were their wands, which they would have to hide away in the bag before the twins apparated them to London, and the Marauders Map, which Harry was using to keep an eye on the passages and the castle as they waited for the twins just outside the far end of Hogsmeade, where they'd agreed to meet, and which he would pass back to Ron’s brothers to give over to Ginny’s keeping later that day when they returned to take Ron and Harry’s places.  


__

__

They’d needed to leave behind all their wizarding attire in their trunks. Harry and Hermione had helped Ron pick his muggle clothes, and they each sported a backpack with a few changes of clothing, their personal items and passports, the beaded bag in Hermione’s and the laptop in Harry’s since Hermione wanted to keep it as far away from active magical artifacts as possible.  


__

__

Harry sighed as he spotted two heads of red hair coming up the country lane.  


__

__

“Right then - you know, you two -“  


__

__

“Shut up Harry.” Hermione and Ron said together. Harry swallowed and nodded.  


__

__

“Okay then. Just thought I’d say it anyway.”  


__

__

Fred and George jogged up the rest of the way and met them. Without preamble they each took hold, Fred taking Hermione and Ron, George taking Harry, and left in two cracks of displaced air.  


__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, they've definitely left! 
> 
> I apologize for the shameless use of Bad Company's debut album, sort of. Anyway, lyrics are from "Can't Get Enough", "Rock Steady", and "Movin' On", which are all on the album - not mine. British 70's rock was so nice...


	5. June 13-15th: Converging

# June 13 - 15th

## Converging

Luna thought it was very sad indeed, that people did not notice so many things; she often wondered at this gross lack of perception. Nobody appeared to notice that Fred Weasley did not play chess, like his brother Ron. Or that George Weasley spent the majority of his time in the Gryffindor Common Room, when Harry Potter would be roaming the corridors of the castle and walking about the grounds this last week before having to leave Hogwarts for the summer. No one seemed to notice that Ginny spoke a great deal less than Hermione - or that Luna spent a great deal more of her time out of doors than their friend was prone to.  


She found it all _terribly_ curious.  


Luna also wondered if, had he not been quite as distracted himself (or so worn about the edges - he really was looking quite tired), as he appeared to her, whether the Headmaster would have noticed. She was rather fond of him; he had been terribly kind that one afternoon when he had spoken with her about the properties of mistletoe and whether planting it was a clever way to draw Nargles away from home and hearth, or sure to lead to infestation. He’d even complimented her socks at the time, which she had been showing off owing to her shoes having gone missing again; in fact, her shoes had very suddenly reappeared on her bed that same evening.  


She hummed to herself as she descended the main staircase. It was convenient, though unfortunate that Headmaster Dumbledore was having trouble noticing just now - generally he was a great deal better at it than a number of people. Small things were so often the most important, in the end.  


Well.  


The Whisperers she overheard on occasion were abysmal at noticing small things as of late, so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that the Headmaster was having trouble as well. Recently they sounded far away, and barely ever whispered about magical things anymore. For all that they had multiplied and clamored around Harry on occasion, they did not seem to have noticed him leaving as suddenly as he did either!  


Perhaps that wasn’t terribly surprising? Heliopaths so rarely exposed themselves after all, and even when they did, wizards seldom paid them any mind. This baffled Luna as well - how, exactly, did one go about not noticing enormous beings with innumerable wings and multitudinous eyes that burned as bright as stars? While she knew they couldn’t help it, heliopaths _were_ naturally ostentatious in appearance and presentation.  


Hmm.  


She shrugged and continued into the Great Hall, pausing a moment before making her way to the Gryffindor table (Ginny and Fred and George having all determined that she sit with them for the remainder of school during meals; they’d been awfully persistent about it). Luna seated herself next to Neville, smiling at Ginny, who was taking her turn pretending this morning. After ladling some porridge and honey into a bowl, she gently tapped Neville on the arm - who, being distracted, jumped in his seat before turning to see who it was - and asked politely if he would pass her the dish of cream on his other side.  


Neville leaned in as he passed the small pitcher to Luna, and asked quietly, “Do they seem a bit odd to you?” He nodded his head a bit to where Ginny and her brothers were seated to breakfast. “I thought at first it might be because of everything that happened last week, but…” he trailed off.  


Luna beamed at him, and Neville smiled back, a bit unsure, as she nodded vigorously.  


It was so _lovely_ when people noticed things!  


“Oh yes,” she leaned in a bit and patted his arm solicitously, “But everything will be quite alright, so you needn’t worry.”  


He looked at her a moment longer. “If you’re sure?”  


Luna smiled back.  


“Very sure.”  


## ~*~

_…And He went to Prometheus who was bound_  


_And as Prometheus had done unto Zeus by Fat and by Bone_  


_So tricked the chained Immortal with honeyed promises of freedom_  


_For He desired the knowledge of crafting Stelae;_  


## ~*~

Five people suddenly appeared on a deserted platform in Kings Cross Station in London.  


Harry bent nearly double as he sucked in a deep breath to keep from gagging while Ron and Fred steadied Hermione.  


“That” she gasped, “was absolutely _dreadful_!”  


“Sorry about that - side-along’s always a bit more unpleasant.” George said to her while clapping Harry’s shoulder sympathetically. Fred let go of Hermione when she no longer looked pale and they turned to face Ron and Harry.  


“Righty-O, gentlemen!”  


“Time to pony up!”  


“Sweeten the kitty!”  


“Your supply is our demand! We need some bits off of you.” George finished as he extracted a pair of scissors from an inner pocket of his robes He then snipped off a generous lock first of Ron’s then Harry’s hair, and placed each sample into a small phial which he tucked back into his pocket.  


“We left more hair with Ginny, if you end up needing it.” Harry told them as he passed his Map over to Fred. “Thanks again for doing all this, by the way - you’ve really stuck your necks out for us.” he added.  


The twins each gave Harry and Hermione a one-armed hug before moving to embrace their brother tightly. George whispered into Ron’s ear:  


“You’re doing a good thing, Ron. Now just keep yourself in one piece.”  


“I expect Mum and Dad’ll be proud - even if they _do_ skin you for it later.” Fred added cheerfully.  


They stepped back and with an exaggerated salute, disapparated back to Hogsmeade. The crack of air echoed eerily around the otherwise silent platform. Hermione spoke in hushed tones.  


“We’d best get moving, then.” She extracted her beaded bag from her pack and held it open. “Go ahead and pass your wands over, we need to make sure everything’s put away so we aren’t caught out at customs anywhere. Do you have the right passports out?” Harry felt uncomfortable and exposed without his wand, and his fingers itched to hold it. Ron grumbled yet again about his fake I.D.  


“Come on, _Red_ , it’s just for one day, yeah?”  


“Yeah, well they didn’t take the piss out with _your_ names then, did they?” Ron hadn’t been terribly thrilled to open his passport two nights ago and see it printed with the name ‘Reddington H. Childe’. Harry snorted both at the name and the memory of Ron’s displeasure.  


“At least you know where they got it from - no telling where they came up with ours.” Apparently Harry and Hermione were meant to travel as brother and sister ‘Jack and Henrietta Puckle’. Hermione huffed as she pulled out a muggle compact.  


“Harry hold your fringe up so I can do this properly.” He made a face. They’d discussed this bit last night, but since magical disguises tended to fail on his scar or worse - could potentially be detected, he dutifully lifted his hair off his forehead. Ron watched, mildly fascinated while Hermione quickly and efficiently smoothed concealer and powder over the distinctive scar.  


He looked closely at Harry after he smoothed his hair back down and nodded.  


“Blimey that’s worked well, ‘Mione - you can’t tell anything’s there unless you’re right in his face. Reckon the muggle stuff’d work on Edgecombe’s spots?” Harry snorted.  


“Think it’ll take a bit more than muggle makeup to help with _that_.”  


Hermione mumbled lowly to herself about ‘ _boys_ ’ as she tucked the compact away and checked her own bag before shouldering it. She briefly inspected her watch.  


“Come on - it’s not far from here to St. Pancras’s once we leave the station, but we need to try and get an early train if we can.”  


They stepped together through the barrier and all at once were assaulted by the lights and sounds of the busy terminal of Kings Cross Station towards its exit. The walk to St. Pancras’s Station was uneventful, and after purchasing tickets for a train to Paris and passing, thankfully, unnoticed through customs, there was still nearly half an hour before boarding for departure. They poked about a couple shops, picking up some overpriced pack lunches for the trip. In one, Ron pulled them over to a stand of reading glasses and convinced Hermione to try on several pairs and purchase one to wear as they traveled. He reasoned that along with their equally unmanageable hair (he received corresponding smacks on either arm for pointing _that_ out), it would add to their aliases as brother and sister for the duration. Though he didn’t say as much out loud, Harry was secretly pleased that having glasses did make them look more like brother and sister at a glance. Hermione had even pulled her hair up into a bun in an effort to tidy up her mane, but this only managed to increase the halo of frizz around her head, making her hair look more of a birds nest, and Harry stepped on Ron’s foot to keep him from pointing it out to her.  


The train departed promptly at 9:20 a.m. for Paris. Just after 9:45 a.m., in a castle in Scotland, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger appeared to be setting down to breakfast in the Great Hall, talking quietly amongst themselves and occasionally throwing glances at the Ravenclaw table.  


## ~*~

Given that Fred and George Weasley were no longer students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the professors were somewhat stumped as to whom was to blame for why there was a sudden burst of shifting unpleasant weather patterns in the 3rd through 6th year Ravenclaw girls dormitories. Any attempts to dispel or charm away the rain, extreme winds, sleet, hail, snow, diminutive tornadoes or miniature bathtub waterspouts and the weather patterns simply changed into something else. The fourth year dormitory was particularly beastly, and snow and hail had piled so high in most of the rooms that the next to last day of school all the affected students had been moved into a temporarily expanded Ravenclaw Common Room to sleep for the last two nights.  


Luna Lovegood slept peacefully in Hermione Granger’s bed, unmolested by rough precipitation and disagreeable temperatures.  


## ~*~

_…Reprieve from torment;_  


_And believing Him to be possessed of the greatest nobility of the spirit,_  


_Prometheus imparted the Knowledge of Sacrifice which is made in Blood and Bone._  


_But Prometheus was not freed, for He desired more knowledge of the Greatest Arts…_  


## ~*~

Ron had tried very hard not to think about how, exactly, they were traveling. When the train dipped low into the ground after they’d moved on to Kent, with Harry blinking down at a discretely folded issue of the Quibbler Luna had insisted he read and Hermione bent over the keyboard of the computer it was easy to pretend they weren’t traveling through a tunnel that was underground, _underwater_ , and speeding towards the Continent. After a time he was even able to relax back in his chair a bit, and polish off the pack lunch he’d picked up that morning.  


The Metro train they took from Paris Nord to get to the airport was fine - a bit over-warm with body heat and cramped, but not unlike the London Underground he’d visited on occasion with his parents or Bill.  


The airport was immense - much larger and with more people coming and going than he’d ever seen in his life in one place. He couldn’t pay attention to Hermione’s explanation on who Charles de Gaulle was, Ron was too distracted by the confusing knots of escalator tubes, arched layers of steel and glass ceilings, cavernous terminals with deep red carpeting and warm wood accents. It was seeing Hogwarts Castle for the first time again as a child, only now it was through some bizarre muggle lens. Eventually Harry and Hermione had to take hold of the sleeves of his jacket and tug him through check ins and security lines and wherever else they needed him to go.  


And then, as they finally seated themselves in a corner of a terminal where they would wait for their first flight to arrive, he looked out the window noticed the airplanes moving, connecting and disconnecting from retracting tunnels, and Ron realized he was terrified.  


“We’re going in one of _those_?”  


Harry and Hermione looked at one another over their friend, and then back at Ron.  


“Mate,” Harry started.  


“I thought they’d be bigger…” Ron swallowed and looked back at Hermione. “I told you I’d let’m Stun me. Sure we can’t do that now?” he croaked.  


Hermione patted Ron’s arm and Harry gave him an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder.  


“How about a cup of tea, yeah?” Harry asked as he stood up and stretched.  


“Oh yes, I think I’ll come with - why don't you stay here with the bags, Ron? We’ll bring it back to you.” They took off quickly for a kiosk some yards away as Ron shouted hoarsely after them.  


“That’s _not_ an answer, you berks!”  


Harry whispered to Hermione as she caught up to him “Don’t suppose you’ve got a Calming Draft tucked in your pocket we can nip in his tea?” The small glass phial she quickly palmed him was cool to the touch.  


“Just a splash - otherwise there won’t be enough before we take off in Dublin, we don’t want to enter the US with that so I didn’t bottle much.”  


## ~*~

In a small Hamlet in New York State, not terribly far from the Pennsylvania border, two brothers are just now stirring to wakefulness. After breakfast they will spend a great deal of time unsuccessfully researching missing girls in the area library. Later that afternoon, they will find and rescue a terrified young woman who has been handcuffed to the kitchen stove and beaten by her stepmother.  


## ~*~

_… In rekindled despair, for the Eagle had returned to feast,_  


_Prometheus bid Him to swallow a Crumb of rust from the chains which bound Immortal flesh;_  


_And in so doing laid a curse upon Him for his deceit and hubris._  


_And He and His children were as bound as Prometheus,_  


_Only able to impart the knowledge of the Sacrifice, and not use it, in perpetuity._  


## ~*~

Hermione reaches over and quietly closes the laptop on the folding tray in front of Ron - who, despite his protests and fears about flying earlier that afternoon, has finally fallen asleep somewhere midway over the Atlantic. They are sandwiched together in center coach, she on one side of Ron, Harry on the other, with several filled seats to either side of them on their flight out of Dublin to JFK in New York. Ron was able to distract himself quite admirably once she’d taught him how to open and play a game of chess on the laptop. Harry had fallen asleep a while ago listening to the in-flight show over a pair of headphones.  


In an effort to either find her way to sleep, or uncover a bit of new inspiration for their search, Hermione began reviewing her mental to-do list. Doing so was habitually the way she managed to settle herself before bed; her mind was too busy spinning with thoughts and the desire to absorb new information or experiences otherwise.  


In the brief hours before their first flight and in their layover before the second, she’d researched the scant information she was able to collect from letters to Sirius from Mr. Singer. Precious little as it was, she had managed to aggregate the occurrence of the name ‘Winchester’ and the phrases ‘occult-related’ or ‘unusual deaths’ reported together around an area in the middle of the States, occurring most frequently within a close enough distance to a businessman by the name of Bobby Singer, who owned an auto parts supply. They’d agreed that it was enough of a lead to be getting on with, and would plan where to go next after they landed.  


_Of course, we’ll need to pick up some phones after we get through the airport, perhaps go ahead and switch out to our proper identification - the sudden change might keep us from being immediately followed…_  


_We need to see to picking up easy food to travel with…_  


Hermione hopes that Mr. Singer won’t be too reticent, because the notes that he sent to Sirius are terribly fascinating - there is nothing to compare them to in the Hogwarts Library that she could uncover in the three days before they left - and she has an increasing number of questions. Any contemplation Hermione has previously given over to the existence of demons is the supposition - one which she suspects the Magical communities share, if the lack of materials in the library are any indication - that someone muggle had viewed something magical, and had then applied some outdated explanation that they called demonic activity. Now she wonders about that, of course.  


It _was_ true that the American Magical Communities were a great deal different from the European ones - they were more accepting of first generation status, for a start. But the Magical Communities tended to congregate around the coastlines along either side of the States, and the people there regarded the vast center of the Northern continent as something of a no-man’s land. It puts her in mind of her father’s collection of spaghetti westerns. By all accounts (or at least, the two dusty travel journals she managed to unearth in the Geography section), the middle of the US has been overrun with wild, lawless creatures, and if the self-same accounts are to be believed, the rampaging monsters are regularly chased down and executed by families and pocket communities that have been hunting them for generations. It was all terribly sordid, and Hermione rather doubts things are as uncivilized as they had been painted in Feldspar’s biased and poorly titled  Bugger It, I’m Never Going Back.  


At least they’ll be able to keep their wands on them when they get to the more central states - so long as they’re not in front of anyone, they should be able to squeak by with minimal spell casting, if the need arises.  


Hermione realizes her thoughts have wandered off when the pilot announces over the intercom that they will be landing in an hour and a half. Realizing she won’t get to sleep again anytime soon, she instead settles back to consider their options. The infrastructure isn’t as connected in the US, the country is terribly immense, but she thinks they might be able to catch a train out of New York - perhaps transfer to a bus later on. They need to get out of the airport system after this leg of the journey…  


## ~*~

In a kitchen tucked away in a basement in London, Remus Lupin sits alone at the long dining table rolling an empty shot glass between his palms. The fire in the hearth is banked for the night, and the half full bottle of fire whiskey glints ever so often, refracting the dim glow of the coals.  


Recalling one of Sirius’s monumental blow-ups in that room with Severus in his mind’s eye, of which there were too many, he thinks bitterly that _this_ is what his former colleague meant by karma. Severus Snape has withered into a spiteful man, but he is the only one out of five former boys who isn’t dead, dismembered or on the run. He has and maintains a _career_ , even if he hates it - something Remus cannot do.  


He finally pushes out of his chair to make for his bed, joints loose with the warmth of alcohol, though he knows he’ll be stiff and miserable when he wakes in the afternoon. Remus needs to sort through Sirius’s things, the man was up to something before he died - he’d been frantic, driven to distraction the last few months when Kingsley was no longer able to post his letters. Remus had tried offering his assistance but the man had become increasingly paranoid and all but buttoned up about whatever it was he was attempting to do.  


_Something else to worry about for another day._  


Remus is unable to escape the anxiety building in the pit of his stomach - he is sure that whatever Sirius had been trying to do needs to be looked into sooner rather than later. The headache he is sure to wake up with the next day will remind him that he cannot drink himself into a restful slumber.  


## ~*~

_… For His rage was deep, and boiled as the sea at the birth of the Oceanids;_  


_And so He twisted the Sacred Knowledge cruelly, and wrested from Clotho_  


_That which was not His to untwine…_  


## ~*~

“Maybe we should have phoned ahead.”  


Hermione huffed. “We all agreed that showing up unannounced would give us a better chance of not being turned away.”  


Ron halted the growing argument before either of his friends could get started. They were all exhausted and irritated from two days of non-stop travel. On top of that they were now dusty from a windy three mile hike from the bus depot, and sorely in need of a proper meal and shower. Especially the meal.  


“Look, we’re already here, right? We’ve bussed out to the middle of nowhere, we’ve walked all the way up to this place, might as well get on with it before it gets dark - if the bloke isn’t the one we’re looking for we need to leave while we can still see.”  


They looked up at the entrance to Singer Salvage Yard. A gated archway done in surprisingly cheerful sculpted lettering proclaimed the name of the business, though the framework was gathering rust in some spots. The entry gates were thrown open and framed a massive yard that spread out behind the immediate buildings and trees with increasingly tall piles of damaged autos. There was a large clapboard farmhouse painted blue, which was tucked behind a row of privacy trees 300 yards or so past the entrance. Ron fairly goggled at the sight of it all.  


“Merlin, Dad would have fits if he saw this place - he’d never leave, it’d drive Mum mad for certain…” Harry snorted at that.  


A breeze blew up more dust around them as it blustered by; the only sound it carried was the eerie creaking and groaning of metal. Harry swallowed nervously as he stepped forward.  


“Suppose you’re right - should knock and find out if he’ll see us before we find ourselves walking back to town in the dark.”  


Ron squeezed his shoulder briefly as Harry plucked up his courage and the three friends passed under the sign together, walking up to the porch. Harry squared his shoulders and knocked firmly on the door as Ron and Hermione flanked him on either side. They each took a step back when a gruff voice called from somewhere in the house “In a minute!”, and waited. Hands hovered nervously near concealed wands as a pair of boots thumped over creaking floorboards and approached the door. The screen stayed shut, but the door to the house opened to reveal a burly man of a similar size to Mr. Weasley. He was dressed in flannel and jeans, an old sports cap with a motor oil stain and solid-looking leather work boots. His face was tanned and lined, with a short scruffy beard going gray about his chin. The man seemed to be holding on to something just out of sight beyond the doorframe; he squinted suspiciously at the children on his doorstep.  


“Well? What do you bunch of young’ins want all the way out here? I ain’t got time to waste if you’re pulling some prank - can I help you?”  


“Um, yes - hello. My name’s Harry - I’m looking for a Mr. Bobby Singer, my Godfather was writing to him…” Harry trailed off and flinched a bit as the man at the door uttered a low oath.  


“ _Balls_! Wait here a moment - don’t any’a you move a muscle.” He quickly stalked back into the house, muttering under his breath and returned not a minute later carrying three small shot glasses stacked together in one hand and a glass bottle with some clear substance in the other. Without a word the man poured out two fingers of liquid into each glass before setting them on the sill by the window next to the door.  


“You each take a glass and drink it, then we’ll talk.”  


Ron and Hermione stepped closer and Harry heard Ron mumbled “Bloke’s near as bad as Moody.”  


Throwing the bottle another glance, Hermione huffed and before either boy could stop her had thrown back the glass and set it down.  


“For Merlin’s sake it’s fine, both of you. Go ahead and drink.” She looked to the man at the door and asked “That’s holy water, isn’t it?”  


He nodded and smiled a bit as Harry and Ron drank down their glasses and set them back as well. “You catch on quick girly.” She stuck her hand out to shake and he didn’t hesitate to take it.  


“My name’s Hermione Granger.”  


“Hermione.” He nodded. “Name’s Bobby Singer,” He looked at Harry and nodded his head in the direction of the house. “Reckon y’all had better come in so we can talk.”  


Ron stuck his hand out next after he passed through the door. “Ron Weasley, sir.” Bobby nodded at him.  


“And you’re Sirius Black’s Godson, are you?” he stated more than asked as Harry also stepped into the house. Harry offered his hand and answered in a subdued tone.  


“I was sir, yes. Harry Potter.” Bobby paused a moment as he let go of the kid’s hand, and his shoulders sagged a bit has he finally turned to retrieve the bottle and glasses and return them to his hall cabinet. He waved them on into his living room and bid them to have a seat on the sofa as he settled into an armchair across from the kids and leaned forward.  


“I’m guessing something happened to him? I haven’t had letters from Black in months, and the last ones I wrote him all got sent back.” Harry nodded at that, and began quietly.  


“I… don’t know how much he told you about what’s been going on in Britain, sir? But there was a fight in the Ministry building in London, just over a week ago. It was a trap for me, and he was killed by his cousin there, trying to get me out.” He swallowed and continued after a moment. “Voldemort - He’s the one who Sirius was writing to you about, who broke his soul into pieces - he used our connection to send me visions of Sirius being tortured so I would go to the ministry to find something for him, and I _tried_ , I really did, to find out if it was real or not, but I couldn’t get in touch with Sirius. Hermione, Ron and I - and some of our other friends - went to go and rescue him, and then everything sort of unraveled after that…” the boy trailed off.  


“When Sirius wrote to me he said you were safe enough at the school of yours - where are all the adults? There wasn’t anyone you could go to for help there?” Bobby asked someone indignantly. All three kids visibly sagged in front of him as Hermione answered.  


“We’ve been in something of a cold war this past year. Our Ministry began a smear campaign last June, making Harry out as a liar when he told everyone that You-Know-Who was back. They even planted an official in the school who was meant to discourage the rumors about his return. She’s been torturing students and terrorizing faculty for _months_. Headmaster Dumbledore was run out of the school on threat of arrest for treason at the end of February, which may be why it was suddenly impossible to get letters in or out of the country, if they were looking for him.” She blew out an exasperated breath before continuing.  


“He’s certainly been of no help - honestly, he’s been secretive with Harry all year, and putting him off, and he’s _known_ , this _whole time_ … Hmph!” Harry picked up the conversation again.  


“It’s part of the reason we came to see you, sir. Sirius never got to tell me about all this mess with horcruxes or his research, but he seemed to think you might have a solution? And I’d… do you think you could help me get in touch with my Dad? If it’s not too much trouble?” Harry trailed off hopefully as he looked Bobby in the eyes.  


## ~*~

Bobby sighs as he collapses heavily into his creaky desk chair. He’s left the door cracked open, so’s to keep an ear out on the kids, and the sounds of washing dishes and soft voices drift hazily in from the kitchen. He’s unused to the domesticity.  


John Winchester, bold as brass, and stubborn to a fault, may have had the gall (and surprising good sense, in the end) to dump his pair of boys off on Bobby’s doorstep from time to time, but Bobby has had near to no interaction with kids in the years since. He hasn’t needed to give kids much thought at all, excepting these last months when he’s thought about when and how and whether he should tell Dean Winchester about his own.  


So of course, of _course_ , three teenagers suddenly turn up on his porch in the middle of June.  


Three magical, _underage, **runaway**_ teenagers. From another country.  


And one of them happens to look so like John Winchester at first glance that Bobby nearly threatened to shoot him soon as he opened the door and got a look. The boy hadn’t even needed to open his mouth to introduce himself in a nervous British lilt before Bobby began to feel the beginning of a tension headache deep in his skull. Headaches and anything to do with John Winchester were pavlovian at this point.  


Of course now he’s had a little time to observe the boy, and the initial resemblance to John has faded in favor of Dean and what must be features inherited from his other parents. The high cheekbones, stubborn, squared jawline, and slighter features are all Dean. And the kid’s posture - the way he tucks his hands in his pockets, or hunches in his shoulders or eyes a room he ain’t been in before - how does a kid who’s never known his own father still mimic behavior like that, anyway? It’s uncanny, and all Bobby wants to do is ring Dean’s neck right now.  


Not for the last time, he silently asks Karen what he should do, and wishes she could tell him because Bobby is way out of his depth at the moment. He’s been dreading making this call for months, but there’s nothing for it, so Bobby digs his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolls his list of contacts, before selecting the dial button.  


After only two rings, Sam Winchester picks up.  


_“Bobby - Hey man, what’s up?”_  


He closes his eyes before answering; it’s not as if Sam can see him.  


“Sam - how far out are you and your brother?”  


_“We’re in New York right now. We just finished a case - are you okay? Do you need us to head out towards your way or something?”_  


Bobby sighs and leans back into his chair. “Yeah, I reckon I do. I’m fine, but I need you boys to get here as soon as you can make it. I’ve got some news that’s important to tell ya and I ain’t doin’ it over the phone.”  


Sam must have put the phone on speaker, for Dean to suddenly cut in.  


_“What’s happening Bobby? We only have to clean up some loose ends here before we go.”_  


“I told ya I can’t explain it over the phone. Just get some rest before you drive out, and let me know when you’re on your way, alright?”  


_“If you’re sure, man. We’ll leave first thing in the morning and be at yours by dinnertime.”_  


“Good. I’ll be expecting y’all and I’ll tell you everything when you get here.”  


_“We’ll see you tomorrow Bobby, take care.”_  


Well. That’s one dreaded task done. The kitchen has grown quiet and Bobby decides that’s his cue to get in there and make sure the kids aren’t getting up to any trouble. They’re still at the dinner table - Harry is reading through a thick stack of parchment, Hermione has at least three different books spread out around her and is making notes in a notebook, and Ron is playing a game of chess on a laptop. He clears his throat and they all stop to look up at him, wondering what’s to happen next.  


“All right. Harry - I called your Daddy and your Uncle, and they’re on their way, should be here tomorrow night if nothing keeps them. Now, I’ve got some bedrooms upstairs. You and Ron can share the one to the left of the bathroom, Hermione, you’ll sleep in the one on the right of it. Now I know you’re all friends but I don’t want to hear any sneaking around up there at night to each other’s rooms - no hanky panky or nothin’ just because you bunch aren’t at home right now.”  


Three blushes and three adamant ‘No, Sir’s’. Bobby smirks inwardly - just have to lay down some rules and keep the midgets busy, and everything’ll be fine.  


“Alright - tomorrow we’ll go to the grocery store and get some things for meals for the next few days -” Harry interrupts him.  


“Mr. Singer, We can pitch in for the food and the meals at least, since we just showed up uninvited.” Bobby offered the kid a small smile.  


“If you can cook for yourselves, that’s fine - but stop calling me Mr. Singer. Call me Bobby, alright? Now, as I was saying - we’ll pick up some supplies tomorrow. If you wanna pitch in around the place, that’s fine, but when your Daddy shows up I want the three of you out from under foot until I have a chance to talk to them. He doesn’t know anything about this yet, I want him to hear it from me first. Can you agree to that?” Harry bites his lip but nods, Ron and Hermione nodding after.  


“Alright then - the three of you go ahead and start getting in to the shower, there’s towels in the bathroom closet you can use. Then you best go on and get to bed.”  


Bobby watches as Ron and Harry offer Hermione the first shower, thinking absently to himself.  


_Balls._  


## ~*~

_…And so the first Splinter was Unwoven and henceforth_  


_He was ever remembered as the ‘Foul One’ ;_  


_And that is the Greatest Pollution, my child._  


_— Lament of Hesiod_  


## ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lament of Hesiod was created for the purposes of this fic, but if you've never read Hesiod's Theogony, you should give it a look.


	6. June 16th, Little Whinging

# June 16th

  


## Little Whinging, Surrey

  


Petunia Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive was perfectly satisfied with her life, thanks ever so much. She was more than delighted with the new wallpaper she’d just had installed in the sitting room - an anthemion design patterned in sage, cream and rose, with a complimentary egg-and-dart border, also in cream - and Mrs. Number Three had complimented her choice and hinted that it was very elegant, _indeed_ \- and not anything so dreadfully dated like Mrs. Number Seven’s older beige and burgundy striped walls. Petunia was very much looking forward to hosting her Lady’s Bookclub Luncheon in two weeks time; she would be put together so _particularly_ , with her new chiffon summer frock with cabbage roses printed on the gauzy fabric that she’d carefully chosen, perched on her cream and cherrywood settee and serving tea with her summery pink and cream Royal Albert set in her freshly papered sitting room…  


The clock chimed eight o’clock and Petunia paused in drying the dishes long enough to flick her eyes up towards the window behind the breakfast table. The window faced out onto the lawn and street and though the curtains had been drawn for the evening she’d left a small part in them with which to peek. The lady of the house sniffed disdainfully as she caught a glimpse of Mrs. Number Five sneaking off to the newly single Mr. Number Two’s home.  


Her _Vernon_ was certainly not the wandering eye type. She could hear him, just out of sight of the kitchen, chuckling at something on the evening television. He was just what a husband ought to be: Practical, dutiful, and not given over to flights of ridiculousness. _He_ wasn’t the sort of man who made grand romantic gestures; like clockwork, Petunia received her favorite tea blend and candied dates from Fortnum and Masons on Mother’s Day, and on her birthday they dined at her favorite restaurant in town. Eighteen years of marriage had not been perfect - their wedded bliss having suffered such hiccups as the wholly undesired arrival of her _nephew_ not even three years in - but the most important thing was that they had persevered _together_ , in a shared aspiration for achieving middle-class idyll.  


Those _people_ \- she’d been absolutely mortified at the train station that afternoon. The boy had shut himself up in his room as soon has he’d stepped through the front door and she hadn’t heard so much as a peep since.  


Small mercies, then.  


Petunia huffed out a discontented breath as she snapped the dishtowel irritably before draping it over the handle of the oven to dry and began piecing together a tray of cream biscuits and lemonade to take to the sitting room. Merely thinking about the boy soured her mood, and so Petunia tried to do so as little as possible. Perhaps having him in the house wouldn’t be as irritating if he would just bother to fit in a little better. If the boy only made an _effort_ to blend in to the background - but _nooo_. The atrocious child was determined to be as frustrating as any splinter in her palm. No matter what she did to soothe the irritation, it always niggled beneath the skin, deeper and deeper - a constant distraction that inflamed and festered.  


He always had that scruffy, ill-used air about him. His hair refused to lay flat, and _refused_ to be cut - and not for lack of trying on Petunia’s part. Her irritation with her nephew continued to build the longer she had to suffer his tatty appearance under her roof. Every inch of him was defiant - even standing still _in a corner_ he couldn’t fade into the background. That stubborn set of the chin and judgmental gaze often put her in mind of Lily - Lily who always ended up making some spectacle of herself in the end. Intentional or no - never could just step back and blend in, her precious, _precocious_ sister.  


The tray rattled in her hands and Petunia caught herself, drawing in a deep breath. No more thoughts about either of them, now. They were both out of sight - he was tucked away upstairs and she had been gone nearly fifteen years now. It was time to enjoy a quiet hour of television and refreshment with her husband, before scrubbing down the kitchen surfaces before bed.  


Nearly two hours later Petunia turned off the light by the foot of the stairs and headed up to sleep for the night. She paused however, noticing the wavering light spilling from underneath that boy’s door. Frowning and taking hold of the handle, she threw his bedroom door wide open as she stepped over the threshold and drew in a deep breath to scold him for wasting electricity. The boy looked up at her from the desk where he was seated and her lungs froze as all the breath left her. The hair falling about his face appeared to be tinged red, and she paled as the color only seemed to grow brighter, making his eyes more luminescent - and suddenly it was _**Lily**_ sitting there, staring up questioningly at her older sister Petunia and it was all too much.  


Petunia gasped, and clutched her fingers together over her breast as grief and terror and panic swelled and crashed over her like a wave. He continued to stare up at her curiously, uncomprehendingly, and Petunia’s chin wobbled.  


“G-go to bed!” she gasped out as a sob overtook her and she turned and fled into the safety of her own bedroom. She tossed and turned fitfully that night, unable to find comfort in dreams haunted by the beseeching green eyes of a dead woman who continued to plead _‘for me, ‘Tuney?’_.  


Meanwhile, George Weasley shrugged off the odd behavior of Harry’s relatives and waited for his most recent dose of polyjuice to wear off before sneaking out of the dark house and away into the night for a very important meeting.  


## ~*~

Bobby couldn’t recall the last time he’d woken up to the smell of coffee. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the odor of a fresh brew wafting up that woke him or something else. Not smelling smoke, and only hearing some gentle chatter bubbling from downstairs, he decided to take his time with a morning shower before ambling down to the kitchen to see what those kids were getting in to. He swiftly reevaluated that decision upon entering the kitchen twenty minutes later. Hermione and Ron were each lightly dusted in flour and sulking into their mugs of tea as Harry was just dishing out eggs into a stoneware serving bowl he’d unearthed from who knew where in the kitchen. What looked to be the last of his toast and bacon was set out to be served, still faintly steaming. Harry’s greeting of ‘Good Morning, Sir’ was echoed by the other two at the table as Bobby strode over to the counter to fix his cup of coffee from the prepared pot. He waved Harry off to a seat and motioned for them all to serve themselves before seating himself and dishing a bit of everything on to a plate. They ate in uninterrupted silence for several minutes before Bobby cleared his throat.  


“Do I want to know what happened in my kitchen this morning?”  


Harry snorted and Hermione blushed.  


“Probably not, Mr. Singer.” she admitted.  


“Anything broken?”  


Ron gulped. “No, Sir…”  


“Fair enough. Since y’all went to the effort to make something nice you youngins go ahead and get cleaned up while I do the dishes. We’ll pick up some groceries in town after. That school of yours have you do summer work by chance?”  


They all nodded - the boys reluctantly, he noted.  


“Good enough - you go ahead and get as much of that out of the way as you can this afternoon so’s you don’t waste time on it later.”  


“Sir -“ Harry started.  


“Please call me Bobby, kid.”  


“Sorry, Bobby - I was just wondering when we might be able to sort out my other - er -“  


“Problem?”  


Harry sighed wearily. “…The horcrux. Yes.”  


Bobby set down his fork and looked Harry in the eye.  


“We’re gonna get to that, and I promise you, we are going to find a way to help you - me, your Daddy and your Uncle. But we’re going to take things a step at a time, and in the _meantime_ you all are going to keep doing the important things - like keeping up with your homework.”  


Harry looked a bit bewildered and as if he was about to protest but Bobby pushed on.  


“Listen - you don’t stop doing the normal things just ‘cause you’ve got something difficult to deal with. If you let the hard things take over your life, then what’s the point? Do you get my meaning? Now go on if you’re done - get upstairs, daylight’s a-wasting.”  


As a one, the kids nodded and Ron and Hermione made their way upstairs first, Harry lingering by the door.  


“Sir - Bobby, you really mean that?”  


Bobby gave him a long look.  


“I sure do. Now go on - I’ve got a tv show finale I want to catch tonight.”  


## ~*~

Neither Dean nor Sam were in a good mood when they finally arrived at Bobby’s - they were both keyed up, worried about their friend, and irritable after a thirteen hour drive with near to no stops. Not to mention they were still put out with each other - Dean’s refusal to call up a crossroads demon back in New York, (and Sam’s frustration at the lack of results when he’d done it anyway) and the blow up that had ensued had the brothers scrambling to be out of the car as soon as it had come to a stop on the dusty driveway in front of the house.  


Bobby met them on the porch, Sam having texted him about their impending arrival when they were a mile out from the yard. There were two shot glasses of holy water perched on the railing and a familiar shotgun resting out of reach against the doorframe by way of greeting.  


They both tossed back their glasses quickly and Bobby relaxed and waved them on into the house as he put away the glasses and the shotgun. Dean quirked an eyebrow when he saw Bobby set the gun away in the hall closet, rather than leaning it up against the door inside the house as he’d seen the man do in the past.  


“What’s this all about, Bobby?”  


The man huffed but didn’t actually respond, only gestured them past the kitchen and towards his office as murmuring voices drifted out of it.  


“We’ll talk about it in here if you don’t mind.” The voices in the kitchen stopped suddenly as he spoke. Bobby pulled up short and halted Sam as he made to follow his brother into the office.  


“Might be better if I talk to Dean about this first. You go ahead and bring in your stuff, I expect you boys’ll wanna stay over a while.” Bobby squeezed Sam’s shoulder when he saw his expression cloud over with frustration. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna hear it too. Just let me talk to your brother first - got a few things to say to that idjit.” he grumbled and patted Sam’s shoulder once after releasing it, before following Dean into the office and shutting the door, effectively ending the conversation.  


Sam blew out an annoyed breath, adjusted the shoulder strap of his backpack, and stomped back out to the car to grab their duffels. He’d been upstairs unloading and unpacking for about ten minutes when he heard the stairs creak under quick footsteps and a door to a room opposite his and Dean’s opened as someone walked inside. On his guard just in case, but more curious than anything, Sam quietly crept to his own bedroom door and poked his head out into the hall. The door was ajar to a bedroom to the right of the bathroom and he could just see someone moving around inside rummaging through a bag.  


Feeling like a bit of a creep, but still curious, Sam quietly strode across the hall and knocked on the doorframe to the other bedroom intending to introduce himself. The occupant, a tall redheaded boy with a smattering of freckles across his face and neck, answered in a thick accent before Sam opened his mouth.  


“Harry, I’ll be down in a mo’, I’ve just got her book…” The kid trailed off as he turned around, book in hand, and his eyes widened a bit as he met Sam’s.  


“Um. Hello…” The kid’s voice fairly squeaked on the end. He looked nervous, his free hand trailing to his pocket, and Sam put his hands up and smiled, attempting to look less threatening.  


“Hey - I just heard a noice out in the hall is all, I just wanted to see what caused it. My name’s Sam, who’re you?”  


“I’m Ron.” The kid croaked out. “I’m, uh - I just came up to get a book, for my friends…” he trailed off lamely, holding up the acquired book to make his point.  


“So you and your friends, huh? What are you visiting Bobby for?”  


The boy seemed about to reply, but just then they heard another set of footsteps jogging up the stairs as a new voice called out:  


“Oy mate, what’s taking so long? Hermione’s beginning to worry you’ve knocked over her stacks - oh…”  


Sam turned to see another kid, and his heart nearly stopped. For just a moment, it was as if John Winchester had just stepped into the room.  


“Er, right then - hello…” The second boy offered nervously, and the accent, so out of place and unlike his father’s gruff voice, startled Sam out of his shock. He began picking out differences immediately - the kid was shorter, slighter than their dad had ever been, and behind his glasses his eyes gleamed a bright green. The superficial resemblance was uncanny though, and he was starting to piece together an inkling of what Bobby may have wanted to talk to them about. Though why Bobby would want to talk to Dean about it first instead of the both of them was a mystery. He shook himself out of his thoughts, and offered a hand that was only slightly shaky.  


“Hi - hello. Sorry about holding up your friend - I’m Sam, ah, Winchester.”  


The kid seemed to pale a bit, but squared his shoulders and took Sam’s hand in a firm shake.  


“Harry Potter.” They stared awkwardly for a long moment before Ron started suddenly.  


“I’m going to, uh, take this down to Hermione. I’ll tell her you’re up here talking, yeah?” He scooted around the other two bodies in the room and headed downstairs before Harry could call him back.  


Neither seemed sure what to say. Sam went first, after reaching for a desk chair and straddling it backwards, in an attempt to relax the tense atmosphere that had grown in the room.  


“So, I’m guessing you’re not from the US? What brought you all the way out to the middle of nowhere?” The kid - Harry, he reminded himself - leaned back against a wall, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets. The posture was absurdly familiar and Sam swallowed a bit as he felt his stomach drop a little.  


“No. Um, we’re from England - my friends downstairs and I go to school together in Scotland…” Harry chewed on his lip a bit before looking back at Sam and continuing. “I… there are a couple reasons we’re here, but one reason is because I’m looking for my Dad.” Sam’s stomach clenched a little more.  


“I’m - I’m sorry, Harry, but John Winchester is dead.” he choked a bit, no longer able to keep the grief out of his expression.  


Harry blinked at him, somewhat bemused.  


“Sorry, but - who’s John Winchester?”  


It was Sam’s turn to look confused.  


“John Winchester - mine and my brother’s dad - Dean’s downstairs talking to Bobby right now—”  


“He is?” Harry interrupted quickly. “He’s here? Dean Winchester, I mean?”  


“Well yeah, but uh - _oh_.” Sam’s eyes grew large as he suddenly realized where the conversation was leading.  


“ _Dean_?! Hold on - okay. Let me be sure I’m getting this right. You - you’re looking for Dean? _He’s_ your dad? Not John Winchester?”  


Harry nodded, looking both relieved and more anxious. “Yeah, um - Mum was on holiday in the States when they met, or that’s what my Godfather told me.” he mumbled, blushing and clearly not comfortable with the topic before continuing. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, for what it’s worth…” Harry trailed off uncertainly. Sam swallowed and gave Harry a sad smile.  


“Thanks. So - wow! You’re my nephew, I guess? Hah! I’m an uncle…” Sam swallowed back an hysterical laugh. “Oh God, ‘Uncle Sam’ - I’m never gonna live that down…” Harry looked a bit flummoxed at that statement.  


“So how old are you, Harry?”  


“I’ll be sixteen at the end of July.” Sam’s expression grew thoughtful.  


“So - so wait. Where’s your mom? Or are you here with parents of your friends?” Harry’s expression, which had gradually relaxed as they’d begun talking, appeared to tighten and he looked off to the side at the window. His voice was quieter as he answered.  


“I - Mum died a long time ago. I was a baby, so I never knew until my Godfather told me over Christmas…” Possibilities and thoughts of the similarity in that statement to his own early childhood made Sam feel ill, and he stood suddenly, the color draining from his face, for now putting the non-answer of who these kids were with out of his mind.  


“Why don’t we go back downstairs? Your friends are probably missing you and I want to talk to Dean and Bobby real quick, alright?”  


Harry nodded, somewhat unsure but looking rather relieved to be getting back to his friends. He paused just behind Sam as they made to start down the staircase though.  


“Err - do you…” Sam looked back up at Harry curiously; the kid was biting his lip again.  


“Do you think he’ll want to talk to me?”  


Sam smiled at that.  


“Yeah, he’ll definitely want to get to know you - I’d like to get to know you too. I hope that’s okay?” Harry’s face brightened at that, and he nodded as they continued down the stairs. Sam waved him off into the kitchen as he walked over to the door of Bobby’s office, muffled voices pausing as he knocked once and opened the door.  


## ~*~

Bobby shut the door to his office. Dean leaned his back against a bookcase, apprehensive and arms crossed over his chest.  


“What’s going on man? What do you need to talk about with me you can’t talk about in front of Sam?”  


Bobby’s eyes raked over Dean and he muttered an oath.  


“Before I get into that - d’you got a little copper charm on you somewhere, or did a woman ever give you one? It would have some kind of lily design on it.”  


Dean looked nonplussed but nodded slowly, and rotated a leather band on his wrist to show Bobby.  


“You mean this? Do I need to take it off or something?” Bobby shook his head in a negative and Dean leaned back and crossed his arms again as Bobby tugged off his cap and ran one agitated hand over his hair.  


“I don’t know if I should congratulate you or turn you over my knee for being careless - because guess what, you idjit? I’ve got three fifteen year old runways sitting in my kitchen doing summer homework and one a’ them nearly gave me a heat attack with how much he looks like you and your Daddy, and he sure as hell ain’t your brother!”  


Dean’s eyes grew wide and he paled as Bobby’s voice grew louder.  


“Are you sure?”  


“Boy, as sure as I’m standing here, I’m telling you, your son is out there supposedly doing homework at my table with two of his friends.”  


Dean’s posture sagged and the man pushed off of the wall and sank slowly into the sofa, his hands coming up to cover his face.  


“Bobby… I can’t. I can’t do this…”  


Now Bobby was the one with his arms crossed, nearly glaring down at Dean with a stubborn expression.  


“Why not?”  


“You know why not!” Dean threw up his hands as he shouted. “I’ve only got five months left, Bobby. _Five **months**_ \- that’s it. Sam’s hard up enough as it is, you can’t ask me to do that to a kid, too.” He croaked. Bobby sighed and glanced back at the door.  


“I really don’t think you’ve got much choice, Dean.”  


“What’s that supposed to mean?”  


“It means that, aside from the two friends of his sitting out there with him, you and Sam are about all he has left in this world.”  


Dean scrubbed his face with his hands. “What’s his name? How did he even know to come here?”  


Bobby sighed at that; Dean was liable to blow his stack at the news Bobby had known all these past months. He sat in his desk chair and folded his arms on the top of the papers strewn haphazardly across its surface.  


“The kid’s name is Harry. Don’t suppose you boys keep up with the Magicals, do you?”  


Dean snorted in disgust. “Hardly - not as if they do much to help out here.” Bobby rubbed at his temples.  


“Yeah, well not that I don’t agree with you, but don’t let those kids out there here you talk like that. They’re _all_ Magicals from Britain. Yes - even your son. It makes this all a hell of a lot more complicated, I don’t mind telling you.” Bobby unearthed a stack of what looked like parchment and shuffled through it, before extracting two sheets and passing them over for Dean to read.  


“That there is the last letter I had from the boy’s Godfather. He was killed near a week ago. Harry’s mother and her husband were murdered when he was a baby. Up till now he’s been living with his mother’s sister - apparently she doesn’t want to have anything to do with him where she can help it.” Bobby put in quietly.  


Dean looked up from the page, eyebrows narrowed and anger building in his voice.  


“Exactly how long have you known about this Bobby? You’ve known however goddamn long I might have a son somewhere and you waited to tell me until he showed up on your damn porch!?”  


“You’ve got a right to be mad, Dean, but truth is, there wasn’t much I could do. You probably don’t know, but there’s another war brewing between the Magicals overseas, and your son is caught up in it. Frankly, it’s a miracle they were able to make it out of the country, let alone all the way here. You think I didn’t try getting Sirius to give me more information on how to find the boy? After the one you got there, the rest of my letters were returned - didn’t even get them out of the States. Black’d been in hiding nearly two years, and I didn’t even know the boy’s full name. Until they showed up yesterday, I couldn’t have been able to tell you how to even find the kid.” Dean grit his teeth, but looked down at the letter and read over it.  


He read it again. The clock on the wall ticked away quietly as he stewed on some of the information before looking up at Bobby again with a frustrated expression.  


“You still should have told me. I deserve to know I’ve got a son out there who’s in danger!” He waved the parchment in front of Bobby’s face to make his point.  


“What would you have done?”  


“I don’t know! Something! Anything - there had to be _something_ , Bobby!”  


“Look - we’re gonna have to talk about Harry’s safety, because once they realize he’s taken off, those people are gonna come looking for him - maybe both sides even. There are some good reasons the kid’s here. But for now, you need to get out there and concentrate on getting to know your boy. We can start working out the rest tomorrow.”  


“Does he know, Bobby?”  


“No,” Bobby answered quietly, “No, I wouldn’t have told him that. The telling’s up to you - but I’d suggest you do it sooner rather than later. It might hurt, but that kid’s been lied to a lot from the sounds of it - he’ll appreciate the honesty where it counts.”  


As Dean opened his mouth to respond, the door to the office was thrown open as Sam burst into the room after a single knock. They immediately stood, wary, as Sam grew increasingly flustered in a search for words. Dean’s eyebrows rose as Sam continued to struggle, finally flinging his hands vaguely back towards the open doorway.  


“Bobby - that kid, Harry - he looks -“  


“Uh, huh.” Bobby nodded.  


”And - he said-“  


 

“Yup.”  


“So, it’s true?”  


“Sure looks like it.” Sam turned to Dean.  


“You didn’t know you had a kid out there somewhere?”  


Dean threw up his hands in exasperation.  


“Goddamnit Sam! How was I supposed to know? It’s not as if anyone - wait.” He turned to Bobby. “Nobody came looking before now, right?” Bobby shook his head in a negative and Dean turned back to face Sam. “See? Nobody came looking for me before now and it’s not like there’s some magical mystical way for me to just _know_ I’ve got a kid out there!”  


“Err, well - that’s not entirely accurate.” A younger, male voice interrupted them. The three men turned to face the door as the kid rambled on a bit nervously.  


“Some families have these updating family trees; Sirius showed me his last summer, though I don’t suppose it’s exactly relevant…” the kid trailed off and as Sam shifted over to the left a bit, father and son got their first look at one another. Dean gazed at Harry, dumbstruck and somewhat pale, as the boy looked him over, wide-eyed and equally at a loss for words.  


Harry swallowed nervously.  


“Um, hello…” he trailed off, unsure as to what to do now. Dean swallowed as well before croaking out.  


“Hi…” They stood about awkwardly some moments, and unable to put up with the absurd behavior any longer, Bobby finally burst out:  


“God save me from emotionally constipated Winchesters! _Jesus Christ_! Come on, Sam. We’re going to go pick up dinner, ain’t nobody cooking tonight.” He gathered up his keys and stuffed a wallet into his back pocket, taking a bemused Sam by the shoulder and steering him out of the room.  


“Maybe by the time we get back, you two idjits will’ve managed a damn sentence.” He shut the door and Harry and Dean were left in the office alone together.  


## ~*~

Just after eleven thirty in the evening, four men meet in a dilapidated park across the street from a row of dingy Victorian terraced homes. The night was warm but there was a pleasant breeze hovering about and the sky was unclouded. Some stars were visible through the veil cast by London’s ambient light - overall, it was a lovely evening, and absolutely lousy weather to set the mood for clandestine activity.  


The older two men had been talking with one another for some time before the remaining two had arrived. Wands were drawn at their sudden approach.  


“Where did you find the Map and when?” One voice rasped out without preamble.  


“In Filch’s filing cabinet in our first year in the file marked Confiscated, Undetermined.”  


Wands also drawn, one of the younger men took his turn to ask:  


“And why did you, brother dearest, strip the charms off our brooms so we couldn’t fly them?”  


“Because you were prats and enchanted Ron’s teddy into a spider.”  


The twins snickered as Bill and Remus both relaxed.  


“Alright - what’s this mess you’ve called us out for? You said it was important.”  


Fred dug in his pockets and produced four small leather bundles, passing one to each person while keeping the last in hand. With Remus looking over his shoulder Bill peaked curiously, pulling aside a corner of the odd leather hide wrapping the object he’d been given, and whistled.  


“Merlin - what’s that from?” Remus asked, admiring the wicked-looking fang Bill was carefully turning about in it’s bundle.  


“That’s a basilisk fang, wrapped in its own skin.”  


Bill swore and nearly dropped it in his surprise before quickly tucking the bundle back together.  


“What in the seven hells do we need these for?”  


“On the off chance that a certain something is inside _that_ house;” George nodded at Grimmauld Place, “we need to destroy it if we find it.”  


“What —” Remus started to ask, but Fred cut him off.  


“We know a fair bit about the details, and we can’t talk about it out here —“  


“Not until we break open Sirius’s desk.” George finished.  


“Just trust us - it’ll be a lot easier - and safer - to answer your questions after we get that bit done first —“  


“Be ready; Harry and Hermione both think that the object we’re like to find is shut up in that desk too, so keep the fang handy.”  


As one, they crept into the house and past the silent portrait in the hall. Despite the purge of artifacts the summer previous, and having worked and slept in the home for months, the house had suddenly acquired a more sinister air. The creak of the stairs grew loud and ominous, and the shadows thrown up on the walls by scant wandlight oozed into inky blackness as they crept on towards the abandoned suite.  


Remus looked about and sighed when they entered Sirius’s former rooms. Barely more than a week and the space had already possessed a stale and disused appearance. Bill immediately began testing and breaking down the wards around the desk while Remus began stripping away the layers of traps and _really, Sirius? An allover color-change hair growth jinx?_  


Bringing down all the protections around the desk took the better part of an hour, and no one seemed to want to be the person to open the roll-top. Remus finally huffed and snapped his wand down against his leg in an agitated motion.  


“Right - Right, let’s see what all this fuss is about, then.”  


The three Weasley brothers flanked him as he stepped forward and flicked his wand, each of them grasping a fang in hand.  


## ~*~

Dean was poleaxed. He’d wondered about Ben when he’d met the kid a few weeks back, but there was no wondering here. The kid fidgeting under his gaze, while not a mini-clone, bore more than a passing resemblance to himself - and had one hell of a Grandfather Syndrome going on. Bobby was right - it was more than a little weird how much he reminded Dean of his own father at first glance - nearly made Dean want to straighten his shoulders and stand up at attention.  


Jesus, he had a son. One who actually might need him to be a dad. Dean looked down at the pages he still held crumpled in his hands, and back up to meet the eyes of a kid who’s expression was beginning to take on the resigned look of someone used to disappointment, and made the conscious effort to ignore his reservations for the moment.  


“So - you’re name’s Harry, huh?”  


Harry nodded and though the kid’s answering smile was small, his eyes brightened considerably.  


“So you’re Dean, then?”  


“Ah yup, that’d be me.” They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Again. Dean cleared his throat. “Let’s uh - you know what? Fresh air! Let’s get some fresh air. What do you say we go, take a ride around, maybe get our own dinner? Unless you don’t want to..?”  


Harry seemed to shake himself before answering.  


“Ah no - that’d be brill. I mean, yes - yes, let’s go and no, it’s not a problem… Um, just let me tell my friends.” He stumbled a bit before hurrying out of the room and back into Bobby’s kitchen. Dean shot off a quick text to Sam to tell him not to get them anything and that they’d be back later on before following after his… son, stopping just outside the kitchen to eavesdrop.  


“If you’re sure, mate?”  


“Yeah - yeah it’ll be fine. I’ve got my phone and my coin on me.” Harry patted down his pockets. “ Bobby said -“ The girl at the table flapped her hand at Harry to shoo him off.  


“We _know_ \- they’ll be back soon, Ron and I are staying here. You go on Harry, get to know your dad a bit. We can worry about the other stuff later.”  


“You’re both brilliant, you know that?” Ron bumped shoulders with his friend.  


“Go on, then. Just try not to - to fall into an enchanted man-eating well, or some other nonsense while you’re out, yeah?” Harry snorted and bumped him back as he left the kitchen, and together stepped out into the yard with Dean.  


Dean looked thoughtfully at Harry as he lead the boy to his car.  


“So - she your girlfriend?” Harry looked up, shocked, before wrinkling his nose.  


“No - definitely not.” Dean eyed him for a moment.  


“Boyfriend?”  


“What- no! No - we’re _friends_. They’re my best friends…” he huffed out and eyed Dean back irritably. Dean held his hands up in surrender, trying not to smirk too much.  


“Hey, I just thought I’d check.”  


## ~*~

## June 21st, New York, NY

It was a harried and rumpled Madeline Brokefield who entered her Manhattan office nearly twenty minutes late, laden down as she was with two coffees, one non-fat café au lait, one green tea latte double pump, her briefcase, and a fresh stack of files for her department stuffed unceremoniously under one arm from a passing aide in the hallway.  


Today was the Monday following a particularly grueling week for her department - an annex of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which monitored magical traffic in and out of the country, as well as keeping half an eye out for spillover from the wild territories in the center of the North American Continent. She wanted to treat her assistant and aides as a thank you for the dedication and long hours they’d put in working through their weekend to close a case in which a deeply obstinate wizard in North Carolina had been attempting to release a variety of illegally imported walking moss from Finland into his local wetlands (he’d meant it as a mosquito deterrent).  


In other words: _Please_ accept this coffee as a thank you for stumbling through buggy, festering swamps trying to eradicate illegal flesh-eating plants with fire on a Saturday afternoon and _not_ putting in a two-weeks notice.  


Drinks were passed around and the new files were dropped off at her assistant’s desk for sorting and case placement. Madeline smoothed down her pinstripe three-piece and brushed back her close-cropped curls as she removed herself to her office; she had just taken the first sip of her own coffee as the receiving box at her desk chimed and announced the delivery of her morning correspondences. Somewhat surprised to see there was anything at all from her friend Kingsley, let alone something that had come through official channels, Madeline opened that piece of mail first.  


Three minutes later a long, frustrated groan issued from the department head’s office and a sound very like a forehead hitting the top of a desk reverberated with a heavy thunk. Those employed in the Magical Travel and Safety Department took this as a sign not to make any plans for the coming weekend.  


**Author's Note:**

> I spent a fair bit of time hashing out HP and SPN timelines to fit with this story. Don't worry about dates and times, all will be explained friends. 
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own HP or SPN or affiliates.


End file.
